


i would not ask you, neither would you

by steveandbucky



Series: in any version of reality [25]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Attempt at Humor, First Meetings, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, M/M, Partners in Crime, Recreational Drug Use, Slow Burn, Smut, Undercover Missions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:48:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 48,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26517724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/steveandbucky/pseuds/steveandbucky
Summary: Steve's a freelance journalist who's trying to uncover a major operation that's causing blackouts in the city. Bucky is the former-spy-turned-P.I. who reluctantly agrees to help him. But things don't always go according to plan, and their partnership soon turns into something more.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: in any version of reality [25]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/314783
Comments: 110
Kudos: 185
Collections: StuckyAUs





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> big shout out to @martelldoran and @goldenreel on tumblr for helping me with this!  
> this idea came to me when i decided to rewatch burn notice so that's mainly where im getting my 'research' for what an ex spy might be doing so here's to wildly inaccurate portrayals i guess! and i stole a plotline from a white collar episode bc it sounded like something an investigative journalist might look into. please expect nothing realistic in this fic its mostly self indulgence lmao
> 
> feedback will be appreciated (im so close to finishing this fic!!!!)

“How did you say you know this guy?” Steve asks, glancing at the cafe’s main entrance to see if the man he’s supposed to meet has arrived yet. 

“He’s a friend of a friend. Of a friend.” Natasha says, sipping her iced macchiato. “Relax, will you? Take a deep breath, or whatever.”

Steve huffs. “Do you trust him?”

“I trust Clint.”

“I don’t.”

Natasha shoots him a sharp look. “Do you want the help or not?”

“Yes, fine, sorry,” Steve leans back in his seat and rubs his palms on his thighs. “Clint is a bit sketchy. Sometimes.”

The redhead says nothing. She continues sipping her drink.

“Like, how does the guy wake up one day and buy an entire building?”

“I don’t know. Maybe he has a great investment portfolio.” She shrugs, acting nonchalant. It’s an act, and Steve knows it’s an act. After knowing her for five years, he’s come to recognise when she’s feigning indifference. He decides to drop the subject. For whatever reason, Natasha is fond of the man - besides, if she trusts him, it counts for something. It means he’s earned it. 

Steve doesn’t know Clint Barton all that well. He knows Clint is ex-military, currently unemployed, divorced, owner of a one-eyed lab mix and a twenty-storey building in Bed-Stuy, and the only person in all of New York who doesn’t own a smartphone. But Clint knows Scott Lang, who knows James Barnes, who currently works as a private investigator in New York and reluctantly agreed to meet with Steve under very strict circumstances. 

And that’s how Steve finds himself at Charlie’s Cafe, an establishment that doesn’t believe in air conditioning apparently, on a hot Tuesday afternoon in late May, sweating through his t-shirt and anxiously awaiting to meet the mysterious James Barnes. 

He shows up just a little after three o’clock. Steve sees him as he approaches the outdoor cafe, and heads straight for their table, pulling out a chair and sitting down before anyone can say a word. 

“This heatwave is killing me.” Barnes says, picking up the drinks menu and skimming through it. 

Steve is at a loss for words. He expected....well, he wasn’t sure what to expect, but it wasn’t this. Barnes looks like he’s in his early thirties, if not younger; he’s wearing aviator sunglasses and he’s got his shoulder-length hair pulled back into a little ponytail. He’s dressed in black from top to bottom, including a pair of well-worn combat boots. He puts the menu away, looks up at Steve as he pushes his sunglasses off, revealing a pair of steely grey eyes, and flashes him a charming smile. 

“Steve Rogers?”

“Yeah,” Steve clears his throat. “That’s me. Good to meet you.”

Barnes nods at him and turns to Natasha. “Romanoff. Always a pleasure working with you.” he says, tone neutral.

Steve looks between them for a moment, observing their interaction. He was under the impression that the two hadn’t met before, but there could be a chance, he supposes, that their paths might have crossed, given their respective histories. If Natasha didn’t want to share that with him, she must have her reasons, Steve thinks.

“Ah, no,” Natasha smiles at the man, and gets to her feet. “I’m afraid this is as far as my involvement goes. Hope you boys have fun. And behave,” she winks at Steve, and puts a hand on his shoulder briefly before she walks away.

Barnes flags down a waitress and orders himself an iced coffee. The waitress turns to take Steve’s order, and against his better judgement, he asks for another coffee. Three’s his limit, and this is the fourth cup he’s having in as many hours, but he hasn’t slept in two days. At least he’ll use the fuel to get through the day and hopefully crash tonight.

“So, how do you know Natasha?” Barnes asks him after the waitress takes off with their order. 

“We met at the gym.” Steve says. 

Barnes leans back in his seat. “In my experience, the only people I’ve ever  _ met  _ at the gym were potential...romantic partners.”

“Are you...asking if we ever dated?” Steve asks, eyebrows drawing together.

“Did you?”

“No.” Steve sighs. “Alright, the full story is that I saw someone lurking in the parking lot when I left one night. I tried to warn her, but I guess I went about it the wrong way, because she turned around and decked me.”

Barnes laughs. “I’d pay to see that.”

“Well, we’re friends nowadays, so I wouldn’t hold out hope.”

There’s a stretch of silence before Barnes speaks up again. “Clint told me you’re a journalist. Where do you work?”

“I used to work at the Daily Bugle. I do freelance work now.”

“Not much stability in freelance work.”

Barnes keeps his gaze fixed on Steve as he speaks. It’s a little unnerving, like he’s under constant scrutiny - but he can’t blame the guy. 

Steve licks his lips before he speaks. “No stability at all. But at least I don’t work for some jackass on a permanent power trip.”

Barnes nods. “I hear that.” He taps his fingers on the table then leans forward. “Alright, we can meet in private to discuss details. I can give you an estimate on how much it’ll cost once I know more.” He pulls out a small notebook from his pocket and scribbles down his number. “Give me a call and we’ll arrange a meeting.”

With that, he gets up, leaves a twenty-dollar bill under his now empty glass, and heads out. Steve picks up the note and adds his number in his contacts list, and goes back and forth on whether he should send him a quick text message with his own number, then decides against it. He pays the bill and leaves the $20 as tip, and heads home in a cab. 

As far as first meetings go…well, it could’ve been worse. 

Steve eventually bites the bullet and calls him three days after their meeting, and they arrange to meet later that day, at a restaurant of Barnes’ choice. Steve looks it up - it’s an expensive French bistro on the Upper East Side. Definitely an odd choice. He decides to take a shower and rifles through his wardrobe to find something acceptable. He doesn’t want to be underdressed. Half an hour later he’s still in his underwear, some thirty-pages deep into a google image search for ‘fancy restaurant outfit men’ and still completely stumped. He almost calls the P.I. to call off the whole thing when he hears the intercom, and quickly pulls on his sweats and a t-shirt before he rushes to answer.

“There’s a package for you, sir,” the concierge, Barry, informs him. “The courier tells me he has to deliver it to you personally.”

“Uh, okay, send him up. Thanks, Barry.”

“Anytime, Mr. Rogers.”

Steve stands near the door, mentally going through his recent order history - he’s not expecting any packages, and besides, they are usually left in the building’s mailroom for him to collect; the knock on his front door snaps him out of his thoughts, and he goes to answer.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Rogers,”

Steve stands there, mouth gaping, staring at James Barnes dressed in a FedEx courier’s uniform and carrying a small cardboard box, which he shoves into Steve’s hands. 

“Nice place you’ve got here,” Barnes comments, making his way inside. He walks past the foyer and into the open-plan living room, taking a look around the room, eyes raking over the modern, expensive furnishings; none of it was picked by Steve, as the apartment came furnished. 

The living room looks like an interior designer’s dream; at the centre of the room is the plush, sapphire-blue velvet corner sofa, and two matching armchairs situated on the opposite side, with a dark brown coffee table in the middle of the seating area. There’s a large, curved television mounted to the wall; underneath is a wide TV stand, decorated with a white marble vase, some small, delicate statues of and some picture frames, which were the only things Steve added to the room. 

On the other side of the room is the kitchen, with floor-to-ceiling cupboards next to a wide, stainless steel fridge, a large island acting as a room separator, and in the corner of the room, next to the kitchen is the dining table with six matching chairs, and another empty vase set at the centre of the table. 

After he’s had a good look around the room, Barnes walks towards the windows and lets out a long whistle. “And what a view.”

Steve is beyond confused. “Would you care to explain yourself?” he asks, crossing his arms, eyebrows knitting together.

Barnes stands with his back turned to him, hands in his pockets. “How does a freelance journalist afford a place like this?” He asks. “Top floor, on Fifth Avenue. Did you win the lottery, or something?”

Steve falters. “I… hang on,” he glares at the man. “First, you can explain yourself. Then you can ask questions. How did you find out where I live?”

Barnes turns and looks at him, a look of surprise on his face, as if he’s being asked to state the obvious. “I followed you from the cafe.” He shrugs, nonchalant. “Hey, I gotta know who I’m going into business with.”

“You can just ask, you know.”

“Eh, this is more fun. So, what was it? Inheritance from a distant rich uncle?” Barnes walks around the living room then falls on the sofa, spreading his arms over the back of it. “Oof, this is seriously comfortable.”

He’s starting to get on Steve’s nerves, and what’s worse, he seems to be doing it on purpose. Steve draws in a deep breath and exhales. “My father left it to me in his will. Does that satisfy your curiosity?”

Barnes tilts his head from side to side. “You’d think it would, but you were raised by a single mother, no?” he asks, as he reaches out for a book on the coffee table and flips through it. 

“You know what?” Steve feigns a smile. “I’ve changed my mind.” 

“Oh?” Barnes’s eyebrows shoot upwards. 

“Yeah, I don’t know,” Steve says, hands on his hips. “I don’t think I want to work with a paranoid bastard. Doesn’t sound like much fun. 

There’s a smile that Barnes tries to suppress by pressing his lips together, but Steve sees the way it pulls the corners of his mouth upwards ever so slightly. “Fair enough.” He gets to his feet and approaches Steve. His whole demeanor has changed; the look in his eyes seems sincere, for the first time since their initial meeting. “Look, I don’t like working for people with more money than they know what to do with. It’s not my scene.”

Steve relaxes his stance. “You’ve looked into me, right?”

Barnes shrugs. He neither denies nor confirms, but his silence says more than enough. 

“Well, then you know all this…” Steve gestures around the room. “I didn’t work for it, I didn’t earn it...hell, I didn’t even ask for it. It’s not my  _ scene _ either. I spent half an hour trying to find something decent to wear for that restaurant you wanted to meet at - which, by the way, I have questions about-” he points an accusatory finger at the man, who laughs, cutting him off.

“Wow, okay, I pissed off the wrong guy, didn’t I?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “I’m not pissed off.”

“Uh uh.”

“You don’t trust me, but you don’t even know me.”

“Occupational hazard.” Barnes says as a way of explanation. 

“Fair enough,” Steve replies, though he’s not convinced. “Now, if you could kindly get the fuck out of my apartment, and I’ll meet you at our agreed location at our agreed time. You okay with that?”

“Nah,” Barnes heads to the door, picking up the parcel he’d come in with on his way. “I’ll pick you up at eight. You okay with that?” he asks, flashing Steve one of his charming grins. 

“I can work with that.” Steve says. 

He watches as the door closes behind the man, waits for a moment for him to reach the lobby, and presses the button on his intercom just in time to hear him explain to the concierge that he got the wrong address, before he swiftly exits the building. 

True to his word, Barnes picks him up at eight o’clock on the dot. Steve waits for him outside his building, dressed in his favourite jeans and a simple t-shirt paired with his brown leather jacket. He pulls up at a parking spot a few feet away from where Steve is waiting for him. He pokes his head out the window and gestures for Steve to get in. 

Steve climbs in the back seat, closes the door, and asks, “Hey, are you my Uber?”

Barnes runs a hand over his face. “Get your ass in the passenger seat before I change my mind,” he says, sounding exasperated. Steve bites back his grin as best as he can manage, and dutifully obliges, climbing to the front seat. “What year is this from?” he asks, pointing at the window roller. 

“1991.” 

“Wow, it’s almost as old as me.”

“Hey, it’s the best car that not a lot of money and a bottle of gin can buy.” Barnes winks at him and starts the ignition. 

“Is she your pride and joy?” Steve asks, unable to help himself from teasing the guy. 

He scoffs. “It gets me where I need to go.”

“Where are we going, by the way?”

“My office, where else?”

His office turns out to be a storage unit. Big enough to accommodate a table, a few chairs and a filing cabinet, with a noticeboard on one wall and a whiteboard with magnetic markers stuck to it on the other wall. Steve takes a look around. He’s still skeptical about the whole thing, but even more so when the P.I. he’s working with, works out of a hundred square-footage storage unit.

Barnes shrugs. “It’s way cheaper than an office.”

Steve nods. Satisfied with the explanation, he pulls out a chair and sits down, placing his heavy messenger bag on the table. He pulls out his laptop, and a stack of several folders filled with documents. 

Bucky’s eyes widen. “What’s all this?”

“This is everything I have. Newspaper articles, interviews, anything I could find on Olsen Pharmaceuticals, some freedom-”

“This is way too much information.” Barnes interrupts him.

Steve gives him an incredulous look. “Since when is that a bad thing?”

“Since always,” Barnes picks up one of the folders and starts looking through it. “Too much intel  _ can _ be a bad thing, you know.”

“I disagree.”

Barnes bites down on his lower lip. “We’ll have to agree to disagree, then. Can you tell me what you’ve actually found?”

Steve beams and opens his laptop. “As far as I can tell, Olsen is the guy who runs the show.” He finds the document where he keeps his findings and swivels his laptop screen so that Barnes can have a look. “He’s the one bankrolling the operation.”

“How do you know that?”

“I spoke to his PA…” Steve trails off. “Before she went MIA.”

Barnes raises his eyebrows. “MIA? Did she get cold feet?”

Steve shrugs. “I have no idea. I called her office and they said she’s in Europe with her boss. That’s all they said.”

“Alright, back up.” Barnes leans forward on his elbows. “How did she find you? No offense, but you’re not exactly…uh, a well known journalist.”

Steve gives him a cold look. “Thanks.”

“I’m just saying, if I was the whistleblower, I’d go to one of the big names. Or the cops.”

“She did go to the cops. Well,  _ a _ cop. My friend Sam, his partner’s a sergeant in the NYPD.”

“Let me guess, the info she had wasn’t enough for a warrant.”

“Bingo.” Steve sighs, pushing a hand through his hair, messing it up. “So, Sam put me in touch with her. We spoke once on the phone. I wrote down everything she could tell me, but it’s really vague. Olsen has a private email account she doesn’t have access to - or at least, she wasn’t supposed to, but there was a mix up, and she got a look and saw things she wasn’t supposed to.”

Barnes skims the document, and scrolls down to read to the end of Steve’s notes. Then he sighs and leans back in his seat, crossing his arms. “I think you might be in over your head here, pal.”

“Look, it’s a start. She got me three names - Kevin Wallace, he’s the CEO of Solarce, the biggest clean energy provider in the city. This other guy, Jon Vincent - the guy who bought out Aenergy three years ago from none other than Wallace himself. There’s something here, I’m sure of it.”

“What does this guy Olsen do?”

“He is the president of Olsen Pharmaceuticals.” Steve pulls out a folder. “His company was in hot water a few years ago with a new drug they put on the market. It was supposed to be some kind of breakthrough for treating MS-”

“Yeah, I heard about that. It was all over the news.”

Steve flips through the documents. “The company took a big hit, almost went under - and then out of nowhere, a year later, they got some new investors that pulled them out.” He smiles. “I looked into it. The whole thing was shady, like a cover up, but that’s not my main concern right now. I wanna get to the bottom of these blackouts.”

Barnes sighs again. “Who’s the third guy?”

“Someone named Lawrence. Not sure if that’s a first name or last name. He’s the guy who handles the money, from what I gathered.”

“See, this is what I mean. You’ve got all this,” Barnes gestures to the stacks of documents. “And hardly anything to go with. These guys-”

“Look, I know. They’ve got a lot of money and a lot of power and I don’t have the resources to go after them. But if what Nayeli told me is true, these guys are the people who are causing intentional blackouts all over the city every summer for the last three years. All so they can increase energy costs and rake in millions.”

Barnes groans. “Okay. Here’s my proposition. We gather what we can, and take it to the feds. I mean, you don’t really think you can bring down their entire operation on your own?”

“No, I don’t, that’s why I’m here asking you to help me.” Steve exhales. “You can say no. I’ve got your upfront payment here,” he says, reaching out to grab a brown envelope from his bag.

Barnes looks at the envelope for a moment, then looks at Steve. After a moment of silence, he sighs and picks up the cash, and Steve breaks into a grin. 

“This is for expenses,” Barnes says, stashing the envelope in the inner pocket of his jacket. “Wipe that smile off your face, will you? Now,” he gets to his feet. “I’ve got somewhere to be in half an hour. I’ll text you and we can meet another time to come up with…”

“A plan?”

Barnes grimaces. “Sure. A plan. I mean, by the looks of things, what we’ll need is a miracle.”

Steve puts his things away and gets to his feet, extending a hand towards the man. “Thanks.”

Barnes nods and shakes his hand, and Steve heads out, leaving the man to lock up his ‘office’. He walks to his car he’d left in the underground parking lot with a little spring in his step. Finally, after weeks of research, he’s got something new to go on with. Even if he’s got no new leads, it’s something - and besides, two heads are better than one. Between the two of them, he’s confident they’ll get to the bottom of this. 


	2. Chapter 2

It has been just about the longest week he’s ever had, Bucky thinks to himself, as he closes his eyes briefly, leaning back on the headrest. It’s only midday, and he’s exhausted. He’s been parked at this particular spot since 8AM, and has gathered zero intel on his target, because said target has not even turned up like he was supposed to. 

He thinks about calling Jones for a favour, but decides against it. She doesn’t give them out very generously, and he’s better off saving it for something bigger. If he can’t find anything, it’s usually a sign that there isn’t anything to find. At worst, he ends up with a dissatisfied client and a rude review. It’s the most that’s ever at stake in this line of work. If he was out in the field, where lives were at risk… that was something different altogether. 

Bucky decides to call it a day. He starts the ignition and drives off, heading home for a much needed shower and a nap. At least that’s his intention. He ends up lying on his two-seater sofa, hair wrapped in a towel and another around his hips, aimlessly scrolling through various apps. He opens  _ Dice _ and swipes left and right, occasionally matching with some guy he wouldn’t mind spending some time getting to know better. There isn’t anyone who holds his attention for very long. After a while it becomes a blur of shirtless mirror selfies and drunken group photos inside a dark club. A few of his matches message him, and he engages in the small talk, flirts with one or two of them, but the conversation eventually fizzes out. One person he talks to grabs his attention. 

He’s a blonde named Tyler, with a gorgeous smile and even better body. No mirror selfies in his profile, but the snug t-shirts he wears certainly leave little to the imagination. Bucky is  _ definitely  _ interested. They chat for a while, and on impulse, Bucky invites him over later that night, and he’s excited when Tyler gladly accepts his invite.

Bucky gets to his feet and goes to get dressed, then spends some time cleaning the place up a little. He puts away any equipment in the storage box that goes under his bed, and rifles through the mess of documents on his kitchen table, sorting them into ‘discard’, ‘keep’ and ‘look at later to decide whether to keep’ piles. After the place looks presentable, he grabs his keys and heads out as he realises the only alcohol in his pantry is a bottle of red wine that was a present he’s saving for a special occasion. Not that he’s big on wine, but it was an expensive bottle, and he’d rather pretend to enjoy it with a special someone, or he might end up re-gifting it to one of his acquaintances as a present of gratitude. 

Bucky ends up stopping at CVS, and then remembers he’s got a package to pick up at the local UPS depot, and finally picks up a couple of cases of his favourite beer at Costco before heading home. He parks in the only free spot several yards away, and notices someone lingering near the front steps of his building. Only when he approaches does he recognise the man, and he stops dead in his tracks; standing there is none other than Steve Rogers. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” Bucky asks, curiosity and a slight hint of irritation in his voice.

Steve turns to look at him. “Oh. Hey.” He points to the front door of Bucky’s building. “Is this your place?”

“You first.”

“You’re not very hospitable, are you?” Steve smiles sheepishly. “I mean, is this how you treat the people you invite over?”

It doesn’t take long for Bucky to catch on. He clenches his jaw. “You-” he steps closer to Steve and lowers his voice. “You  _ catfished _ me?”

Steve shrugs, but the blush colouring his cheeks is a dead giveaway.

“Alright,” Bucky nods and pushes open the gate that leads to his basement apartment, keeping the case he’s carrying perched on one hip. “We’re done here. Consider our partnership officially dissolved, or whatever. See you.” He flashes Steve his fakest smile and goes to shut the gate, but Steve pushes the gate open and steps inside.

“Okay, I’m sorry.” Steve says. “But you showed up at my place dressed as a FedEx courier.”

“You catfished me.” Bucky shoots him a dirty look. “That’s infinitely worse.”

“You followed me  _ home. _ That’s creepy as shit.”

Bucky doesn’t want to budge, but he has to admit to himself that Steve is making some valid points. Not that he’d admit that out loud. 

“Just hear me out, okay?”

Bucky huffs and turns around, walks halfway down the stairs that lead to his front door, then turns and walks back up. He looks at Steve for a moment, regarding him. There’s something sincere in the way Steve is looking at him, eyes widened slightly. He can’t tell if it’s an act, or if the man is particularly skilled at coming across as innocent. “You have thirty seconds to give me a valid reason to trust you.”

Steve sighs and closes the gate behind him. “Alright, I’m sorry,” he says, and when Bucky shoots him another glare, he takes a step back. “Really. It was a stupid thing to do, I realise that now.”

“Yeah, it was.” Bucky says, tone sharp. 

“Okay, but are you actually worried about whether I’m trustworthy, or are you pissed because you thought you were gonna get laid?” Steve asks, crossing his arms against his chest. 

Bucky glares at him even harder. “You _ scammed _ me out of giving you my home address. Only a really naive person would trust someone who catfished them.”

“Okay, fair enough.”

“So?”

“So?”

Bucky looks at him in disbelief. “Why did you do it?”

“Because I don’t trust you. You seem shady.”

“And what, you were gonna break into my home and go through my shit?”

“No, I just… I wanted to see what kind of person you were. With your guard down.” Steve shrugs. “Look, you’re the one who invited a complete stranger over to their place.”

Bucky scoffs. “Yeah, for  _ sex _ . That’s pretty standard these days, grandpa, get with the system.”

Steve huffs and spins on his heel, ready to walk out.

“Hang on,” Bucky stops him. “I have one more question.”

Steve pauses with his hand on the gate. He turns back halfway and meets Bucky’s gaze.

“Why did you agree to come over?” Bucky asks, his stance relaxing a little. “You had to know that would blow the whole catfishing thing?

“Like I said, I just wanted to get to know you but...it felt dishonest.” Steve shrugs. “I felt bad.”

Bucky huffs a laugh. “You’re a real boy scout, huh, Rogers.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“In my line of work? It won’t get you far.” Bucky sighs. “Come on,” he says and starts making his way down the stairs again. “I have leftover Chinese from last night.”

“Ooh, cold egg rolls, my favourite.”

Bucky stops and turns to face Steve, who’s right behind him, only a step above him. “Don’t push your luck, sweetheart,” he says, a smirk curving his mouth.

Steve is taken aback as he looks into Bucky’s eyes, glinting with what looks like mischief. There was something definitely suggestive in the way he’d spoken to Steve just now, but before Steve could muster his brain cells into forming a coherent sentence, Bucky had turned back around and walked up to his apartment’s front door.

“Tell me about this PA you’ve talked to,” Bucky says once they’re inside. 

“What about her? I’ve already told you everything she told me.” Steve closes the door behind him and steps inside. 

He takes a look around the apartment, the majority of which is visible from where he’s standing near the front door. It’s a studio apartment, one half of which is the bedroom area, with a double bed wedged into a corner, and a nightstand next to it, and the other half of which serves as the kitchen-slash-living room. There’s the fridge-freezer, a cooker with a small oven, and a few cupboards, most of which are filled with non-perishable food and snacks. A few steps away there’s a small coffee table and a two-seater couch he’d bought for all of fifty bucks.

There’s a narrow hallway that leads to a small bathroom with a shower stall barely big enough to fit a grown man, and another much smaller room that serves as storage space. It’s not much, but it’s good enough, considering the rent is probably one of the cheapest you could find in Brooklyn. 

“I like your place.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Yeah, right,” he scoffs. “I meant, tell me about her specifically. What’s her name? If we can get in touch with her it’d be a step in the right direction. You want a beer?”

Steve nods and makes his way to the sofa, the wooden floorboards creaking under his footsteps. “Her name is Nayeli Adams. I’ve got her number, but it’s been going straight to voicemail.”

“Do you have her email address?” Bucky picks up two bottles and goes to take a seat next to Steve, then picks up his laptop from where it was resting on a filing box underneath the coffee table. 

While Steve goes digging for her email address, Bucky starts looking her up across any social media platforms he can think of. There’s hundreds of results matching that name. “Here, see if you can find her.”

Steve looks at him blankly. “This is your plan?”

“Yes,” Bucky says, surprised at Steve’s disbelief. “The internet is the best way of finding people. Everyone and their dog is on Instagram these days.”

“I’m not on Instagram.”

Bucky presses his lips together, trying not to smile. “Of course you’re not.”

“I’ve texted you her email address.” Steve continues looking unconvinced. “So, what, you’re just gonna send her a message?”

“Yeah,” Bucky shrugs. “And a follow request.”

“ _ You’re _ on Instagram?”

“Well, my alley cats are.”

Steve takes a sip of his beer. “Alley cats.” He repeats. 

“They’re really cute. Don’t discriminate against the homeless, Rogers,” Bucky flashes him a grin. “An account with no posts and no followers looks shady. Cute cats get follow backs. Sometimes.”

“Right. And that’s not catfishing?” Steve asks, a slight teasing hint in his voice. “No pun intended.”

Bucky shoots him a look, but there’s no animosity in his eyes. “Most people are intelligent enough to know cats can’t run their own Instagram accounts, so there must be a person behind the screen. You follow me?”

Steve flips him off, and Bucky bursts into laughter. 

“By the way,” Steve says, and just the  _ way _ that sentence begins makes Bucky think it’s not gonna end well. He turns his head and looks at Steve, raising an eyebrow in question. “Who the hell is Bucky?”

Bucky groans. “It’s a nickname.”

“Oh. I thought for sure you’d have a fake name on your dating profile,” Steve finishes off his beer and puts the empty bottle on the coffee table. “How does a paranoid bastard like you not give out a fake name?”

“Paranoid bastard, huh?” Bucky says, as he continues typing on his laptop. “Anyway, only people really close to me know me as Bucky, so you can go back to calling me James, thank you very much.”

Steve smiles. He props an arm up on the backrest of the couch and rests his head on the back of his hand. “Actually, I called you Barnes. In my head. You don’t look like a James.”

“That’s sweet,” Bucky says sarcastically. “Okay, is this her?” He asks Steve, showing him the screen. 

“That’s her,” Steve nods. “That was really easy huh?”

“Yep. Now let’s hope she’s still checking her Instagram. That is if she’s not dead at the bottom of the Mediterrenean.”

Steve draws in a breath. “Do you really think that could be true?”

“If they suspected she was talking to the press, yeah, I’d say that’s a real possibility. These are bad people, Steve.”

“Yeah, but they’re not like, mafia. Bribery would work better. Hush money, NDA. You know the drill.”

Bucky opens a new tab on his browser. “It’s also possible she did take the hush money and is now...well, hushing.”

“Alright, what’s our next move?” Steve asks, running a hand over his face. 

“We should find out who this Lawrence guy is. In the meantime, I’m gonna see if I can find any dirt on the other three.” Bucky looks up and stares at the ceiling for a moment. “Dammit, this means I have to call Jones for a favour, oh,  _ no. _ ”

“Who’s Jones?”

“She’s another P.I. We help each other out sometimes.”

Steve nods slowly. “You trust her?”

“More or less,” Bucky replies. “You know, you ask a lot of questions.”

He doesn’t get a response from Steve, so he glances over at him and notices the guy’s actually blushing and damn if that isn’t strangely endearing. The guy  _ interviews people _ for a living - it must be something that comes with the job, Bucky imagines, but no, he’s blushing. 

Bucky shakes his head, trying to bite back a smile. “Anyway, we’ll cover more ground if there’s more of us. You continue doing your thing, and I’ll do my thing, and we’ll see if we can find anything.”

“Are you gonna follow them around and take pictures?” Steve asks. 

Bucky thinks about it for a moment. “Maybe. Some of the time.”

“Can I come with you?”

“See this is-” Bucky shakes his head. “No, you can’t come with me. I  _ knew _ you were gonna ask me that.”

“Bullshit.”

Bucky gives him an unimpressed look. “You wouldn’t believe how many times people have asked me that. Let me tell you something, honestly - stakeouts are really not that exciting.”

“Are they boring?”

“Sometimes. It’s tedious work. Most of the time you’re sat there doing nothing and gathering no intel. You’re mostly waiting, really.” Bucky tries to not get worked up over it. “Like I said - you do your thing and I’ll do my thing.”

Steve hums, and changes the subject. “Can I ask one last question?”

Bucky lets his head hang back and sighs dramatically. “As if you won’t go ahead and ask your question even if I say no.” He puts his laptop away and turns to face Steve, tucking one leg under the other. He wasn’t in the mood to do work tonight, anyway. “Let’s hear it.”

“You looked into me, right? Did you look me up on Facebook or whatever?”

“Is that your question?” Bucky quips. “Because if so you’ve wasted a pretty good question. Now you’ve got 19 left.”

Steve laughs softly. “No, I mean… What did you find out about me? Anything you can use to blackmail me?”

“So there’s something out there that I could use to blackmail you, is that what you’re saying?”

“Jesus Christ, can you give me a straight answer for once?”

Bucky’s smile stretches from ear to ear. “Okay, here’s what I know. You are Steven Grant Rogers, born to Sarah Rogers, father unknown, on July 4th of 1989. You were valedictorian at West Bridge High, after which you went to community college, and got accepted at NYU on a full scholarship in 2010. You worked at Starbucks for a surprisingly long time after university. You have two half-sisters who live in Maryland, and you broke up with your ex-girlfriend six months ago.” Bucky takes a deep breath when he’s done talking. “That’s the gist of it anyway.”

Steve looks pensive. He doesn’t respond right away, silence lingering between them. Eventually, he asks, “You found my half-sisters in Maryland, but not that our father left me the apartment I’m living in?”

“I looked into that after you told me about it,” Bucky admits. “I mean, I knew something didn’t add up there, I just wasn’t quite sure what I’d missed.”

“I never met him. He left my mom when she was pregnant with me, and she didn’t want anything to do with him. Raised me by herself.” Steve clears his throat and shifts in his seat, looking away. “I didn’t expect the inheritance, and honestly, I wasn’t gonna take it, but…” he trails off with a shrug. “Anyway. Thanks for your honesty.”

Bucky bites down on his lip. “What do you want to know about me?”

“What?” Steve looks at him, surprised. 

“Just - ask me something, I don’t know. Even things out.”

Steve laughs. “It’s alright, really. I don’t know what to ask. How did you find out about my ex, anyway? I don’t post about my personal life online.”

“Yeah, but she does.” Bucky looks sheepish. “It was all over her social media. Not hard to find.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “That’s what I hate about social media. There’s no goddamn privacy anymore.”

“Eh, it makes my job easier.” Bucky gets to his feet. “You want another beer? They should be chilled by now.”

“Ah, no, thanks,” Steve gets up and grabs his jacket. “I should get home. Sorry again, for the whole-”

“Don’t worry about it.” Bucky crosses his arms and leans against the kitchen counter, trying to appear casual. 

Truth is he wouldn’t mind hanging out with Steve for a little longer, even if he’d been looking forward to getting laid. Steve says goodnight and heads towards the door, and they agree to stay in touch and meet again soon. When the front door closes behind him, Bucky lets out a breath and heads to the couch, flopping down on it. He opens Netflix on his laptop and puts on some lighthearted sitcom to lull him to sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading! if you're on tumblr, here is the [post](https://the-hoziest.tumblr.com/post/629546528470646784/i-would-not-ask-you-neither-would-you-by) if you wanna reblog it so more people can see about this fic! ive worked really hard on it so i would like as many people to read as possible. thank you! :)


	3. Chapter 3

****

  
  


“Luis! Finally! Where have you been, man?”

“Uh, yeah,” Luis’ voice comes through the phone, then a loud crash is heard in the background. “Hang on,”

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, there’s been some recent developments, and I haven’t checked this phone in a few days, you know what I’m sayin’?”

“I never do, buddy. You got a new number I should call on?”

“Uhh, not if you’re calling for favours. What’s up?”

Bucky frowns but doesn’t dwell on it. “Was wondering if you’d talk to Kurt for me. I need a favour.”

“You can ask-” Luis says, then his voice fades away for a moment before it comes back. “I’ll text you his number. You can ask him. What’s the favour?”

“I’m looking for a guy called Lawrence. Are you sure he’ll talk to me after that whole…?”

“Oh the incident, yeah, alright, man, I don’t know, we’re working on something big,” Luis says, sounding worried. “If you wanna tell me about the job, I’ll talk it over with my boys, see what happens, you know?”

“It’s a big job. I just need this guy - he’s either an accountant or a money launderer. That’s all I got.”

“Hang on,” Luis puts the phone against something, and for a few minutes all Bucky can hear are muffled noises in the background. “Dave says he knows this guy Tommy who’s in the imports biz down in Florida, and he works with this guy Antonio, and that guy knows this other guy who cleans their money, he’s called Larry but that’s short for Lawrence, you know?”

Bucky thinks about it for a moment. “Does he live in New York though?”

“Oh yeah, ‘cos the feds busted up their whole operation, so he’s in his Manhattan mansion now, but that could be the guy you’re looking for.”

It’s a long shot, but it’s something. Now, if by some miracle this Larry is the same Lawrence from the emails, that would be cause for celebration. In his experience, the weakest member in any operation is the money launderer. All they care about is their cut - if things start going wrong and the job becomes riskier than it’s worth, that’s usually the first guy who jumps ship.

He’s working on putting together a new alias, which is one of the worst parts of the job. The downside of the fact that everyone and their dog is on at least one or two social media platforms is that any undercover persona he takes on has to have some kind of online presence, otherwise it looks suspicious. He’s just about had it with creating a whole new email account, then Facebook, LinkedIn, and the likes, every other week. 

Once he’s done creating his new persona, Peter Hayes, he puts his laptop away and decides to head out in search of food. He can only tolerate being inside his shoebox apartment for so long before he starts going stir-crazy. He’s on his way to his favourite Indian takeout restaurant when his phone rings, and he brightens up when he sees who’s calling him. 

“Tell me you’ve got some good news.” Bucky says as soon as he picks up. 

Jessica Jones isn’t one for pleasantries, either. “Not much. I tailed Wallace last night. He left the office around ten-thirty, and went to a hotel downtown for the night. His PA told me he’s going out of town for business, so whoever he was meeting can’t have been in his calendar.”

Bucky groans. “He doesn’t seem like the faithful husband and loving father type of guy, does he?”

“On the surface, maybe.”

“Did you get any pictures?”

“No. He’s careful. He went in alone, came out alone, blinds closed all night. Sorry to disappoint.” She says, and pauses for a moment. “I don’t think this is the kind of guy you could blackmail, though.”

“Yeah, you’re right about that.” Bucky sighs. “Thanks anyway. See if you can find anything on the other guy I texted you about?” he says, voice pleading. “I’ll owe you one?”

“You  _ do _ owe me. You owe me five-hundred-thirty-”

“I know, I know, I’ll drop off the money later tonight.”

Jones sighs. “I won’t be in. Just drop it in through the letterbox. I’ll keep you posted if I find anything else.”

Bucky flips his phone shut and tosses it on the passenger seat next to him. He goes over his plan for the day in his head, which is really just getting some sleep so he can stay awake through the night for another boring stakeout. He groans and rests his head on his steering wheel for a moment too long, because the traffic light turns green just then and the car behind him honks loudly. Bucky swears and speeds through the intersection, but apparently not fast enough because the asshole behind him drives past, honking again. “Fucking asshole,” Bucky mutters under his breath. 

Later that night, he tails Wallace from his office to the LUMA Hotel in Midtown Manhattan. Bucky taps his fingers on his steering wheel as he watches the man get out of the taxi and walk in through the main doors. He wonders for a moment if whoever he’s meeting is already there, waiting for him. Well, he’s not going to accomplish anything sitting in a car. He gets out and locks the door, crosses the door and walks inside, heading straight to the reception desk. 

“Hi, sorry, did someone order a taxi for a Mr...?” he trails off, and pulls up his smartphone, pretending to read from a text message. “Mr Wahkan, uh, Y- Yenawine? Could you let him know I’m here? Traffic was a nightmare, there was an accident on-”

The receptionist interrupts him. “I can have a look, sir. What was the name?”

“Wahkan Yenawine.”

“Could you spell that for me, please?” 

Bucky spells out the name one letter at a time, phonetically, and while she’s typing it into the computer system he takes a look around the lobby. There’s just the right amount of foot traffic that he could blend in easily. 

“I’m sorry, sir, there isn’t anyone with that name staying here.” The receptionist, Carla, informs him. 

Bucky pretends to be surprised. “Are you sure? Could you check again?” he asks, feigning anxiousness. “I’m at the right address, right?” he pulls up the Google result for the hotel and shows her his screen. 

Carla confirms it, and Bucky sighs loudly. “Alright, thanks, I don’t know…” he steps back from the desk and looks away. “Maybe I got the wrong address, I’m gonna call him again. Thanks, Carla.”

She smiles at him, maintaining her professional demeanor, and apologises for not being able to help more. Bucky flashes her his most charming grin and puts his phone to his ear, walking out of the hotel. 

“Hello?” Steve answers the phone just seconds before the call would’ve gone to voicemail. His voice sounds rough, and Bucky checks the time on his wristwatch. 

“I didn’t wake you up, did I?” he asks, as he gets in his car and starts the ignition. 

Steve clears his throat. “Uh, yeah, I was working on something and I kind of fell asleep.”

Bucky reconsiders his plan. “I was calling to see if you’d like to help me out with something. Unless you wanna go back to bed.”

“No, I can help. What’s up?”

Bucky smiles to himself, tucking his phone between his ear and his shoulder as he finds an opening and pulls onto the busy road, heading towards Steve’s apartment. “Perfect. I’m on my way to pick you up. Maybe freshen up a little, I don’t know, wear a tight t-shirt. Oh, and do you have a white shirt and tie I can borrow?”

Steve pauses for a beat. “What do you want me to do exactly?”

“Nothing weird. I need you to distract some hotel staff while I slip in and out really quickly.”

“Right,” says Steve, though he sounds unconvinced. “I’ll wear my tightest shirt.”

Say what you want about the guy, he does a great job following instructions. When he sees Bucky pull up nearby, he lifts his arm and does a spin, showing off the dark blue button up shirt which shows off his ridiculous biceps and the tight black jeans. He even  _ smells _ good, Bucky notes as soon as he gets in the car. 

“Wow, you went all out, huh?” he teases, unable to help himself. “Are you wearing cologne?”

“Definitely,” Steve throws his jacket and his bag in the back seat and buckles his seatbelt. “Although I should warn you, I’m not that good of a liar if you put me in the spot.”

Bucky grins. “Don’t worry, all you have to do is pretend you’re doing a piece about the hotel.”

“I’m posing as myself?”

“Yeah, you don’t need a cover when your job is to go around asking people questions.” He glances at Steve from the corner of his eye. “I’m starting to think this partnership might work out after all.”

Steve laughs and shakes his head. “Are you going in as a waiter?” he asks, jerking his head towards the bag in which he’d brought the clothes Bucky asked for. 

“Wait staff are practically invisible in places like this,” Bucky pulls his hair free and ties it up into a neater ponytail at the back of his head while they’re stuck at a red light. He pulls a little tub of hair gel from the glove compartment and slicks down a few stray hairs. He notices Steve watching him, and when he’s done he glances over with a grin and gives him a wink. Steve blushes and looks away, making Bucky grin wider.

The plan goes smoothly. Steve talks to one of the receptionists, who then calls the manager, and Steve keeps him busy for a few moments. The man doesn’t seem too eager to cooperate, but Steve’s well versed in dealing with unwilling interviewees. He keeps him occupied for a good quarter of an hour, which is enough time for Bucky to slip in through the kitchen entrance. He makes his way around the restaurant, picking up some empty plates and carrying them back to the kitchen, and gets handed a tray with two champagne glasses and the order to take it to table 23, but Bucky has other ideas. He finds a room service cart and heads to the elevator which takes him up to the top floor where Kevin Wallace and his guest are spending the night. Bucky clears his throat and knocks on the door, but gets no answer. Moments later, he knocks again, and calls out, “Room service!”

The man who opens the door is definitely not Kevin Wallace. He’s younger, and skinnier, and he’s dressed in only a bathrobe. “We didn’t order room service,” he says, panting slightly.

Bucky manages to maintain a smile, because he’s a professional after all. “These are complimentary,” he says, putting on a slight Eastern European accent. “To say we are sorry for the inconvenience because of our bad Wi-fi.”

The guy shrugs and takes the glasses from Bucky with a thanks, and closes the door. Bucky sighs and closes his eyes briefly. He hates that he was right about Wallace being a lying, cheating bastard, but it would be expected of a man with little to no morals. Shaking his head, Bucky heads back to the restaurant, drops off the tray in the kitchen, and makes his way out the back entrance, texting Steve to meet him back at his car. 

“Did you find anything?” Steve asks as soon as he gets in. 

Bucky clenches his jaw. “Nothing that’ll help us with the case.” He says, glancing briefly at Steve. “I had a hunch he was hiring escorts, and I wanted to see if I was right.”

“And? Were you?”

“Yeah,” Bucky sighs. “Not that we can do anything with that information. The guy’s seriously well-connected. He practically bought himself a seat on the city council a few years ago. I’d bet you anything he’s gonna be running again as a Dem next year.”

Steve’s eyebrows rise to his hairline. “How do you know that?”

“Because,” Bucky starts his car again and they take off. “His grandfather made him President of Aenergy before he died, right? The company was worth millions, and he was the majority shareholder. He sold it to Vincent and bought Solarce, which was a much smaller start up back then. I looked at the numbers - he sold Aenergy for less than it was worth, and he’s poured millions into Solarce, and it’s all so he can make a name for himself in clean energy, but what for? Because that’ll get him the liberals’ votes. Aaand that also explains the wife and kids upstate, and the boy-toy in his hotel room.”

“Wow,” Steve breathes out. “And that makes you angry because…?”

Bucky shrugs, his grip on the steering wheel loosening. “Not angry - just. Slightly irritated.”

“My bad. But again - why?”

“Because it’s the same shit, different asshole. You heard about Wilson Fisk, a couple years back?”

“Yeah.”

“Same shit, different asshole.” Bucky sighs. “People with more money than they could spend in a lifetime, and it’s still not enough for them, they wanna lord over the rest of us, like-” he trails off and shrugs. “Whatever, man. I have contempt for politicians, let’s just say.”

“I get that,” says Steve. 

They ride in silence until they reach Bucky’s apartment, and only once they turn the corner onto his street does he realise he’s not even asked if Steve wanted to come over. “Fuck,” Bucky hits the brakes, coming to a screeching halt. “Did you want me to drop you off back at your place?”

“No, I’d rather keep working,” Steve says. “I have a really boring article to write and I wanna procrastinate that as much as possible.”

Bucky smiles, the tension easing a little. “Sounds good. You hungry?”

“I could eat.”

They order pizza and get to work, but there isn’t much to do at midnight on a Thursday, so pizza and work turns to beers and back to back  _ Orange Is The New Black  _ episodes. Bucky is pleasantly buzzed, flopped on one end of the couch with his feet up on the table, eyes glued to his laptop screen, when Steve nudges him with his foot, drawing Bucky’s attention to him. 

“You feel better?” he asks, sincerely. 

“Yeah,” Bucky runs a hand through his hair and pulls the hair tie off, letting his hair hang loose. “Sorry that was kind of a waste of time. You know, ‘cause it’s not - nothing to do with our case.”

“‘S alright,” Steve shrugs. “It was fun. For me, at least.”

There’s a teasing edge to Steve’s tone, and Bucky rolls his eyes. “I just...”

“Spit it out.”

“It just bothers me,” Bucky sighs. “You know, the idea that a politician can’t be a favourable candidate unless he’s got a loving family tagging along for the photo ops. What is this, 1955? I thought we’d progressed past this bullshit.”

Steve hums, considering. “Maybe not as much as we’d like.”

“Yeah, apparently not.” Bucky looks at him for a long moment. “Would you run for office?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Just - out of curiosity. Hypothetically.”

Steve seems unconvinced, but he answers honestly. “No, I don’t think so. I don’t think it’s for me. I mean - look, there’s some good ones in the mix. People who truly care, and they try their best to make a difference. But...”

“Yeah, see?” Bucky tilts his head to one side. “You don’t wanna swim with sharks, because you’re actually a decent person.”

Steve smiles, his eyes glinting with amusement. “Is that a genuine compliment, or are you trying to butter me up to get me to do more shady shit?”

Bucky rolls his eyes and looks away, trying to hide his smile. “Shut up.”

“So, are you gonna go undercover as one of his escorts?” Steve asks, a teasing edge to his tone.

Bucky pretends to gag, making the blonde laugh. “Nah, there’s no point. If there’s anything to find, it’ll be in his office. But I’m putting together a job application for Olsen’s company.”

“Ooh,” Steve sits up. “What are you going in as?”

“Janitor.” Bucky grins. “It’s my favourite kind of undercover job.”

“Seriously? A janitor?

“Yeah, seriously. You can go in at night, no one stops to question you if you roam around a little, no one even looks at you twice. You’re free to snoop around as much as you’d like.”

Steve seems to think about it. “Makes sense. What do you think you’ll find?”

“Okay, Olsen’s office is off-limits. No one but his PA and himself have access to it, the door opens with a keycard, the cleaning staff can’t get in even if they wanted to,” Bucky swings around as he's facing Steve, sitting cross-legged. “So I won’t be able to get in, but the plan is to hack into one of the upper-level management’s computers and leak some sensitive information. I mean there’s gotta be some documents or some emails that if they were to get leaked, it would look like they’ve got a security problem, right?”

Steve nods, listening intently, eyebrows drawn together. 

“Then I bring in a security consultant to protect their data. And I just happen to have some friends who have a start up doing security consulting, so it’s all legit.” Bucky grins. “It’s good, right?”

“It sounds...too easy.”

Bucky shrugs. “If it goes without a hitch, yeah.”

“Your friends...they’re on board with this idea?” Steve asks, looking skeptical.

“They will be. Trust me.”

Steve draws in a long breath and lets it out. He tries to hold back a smile and says, “I don’t particularly want to, but I don’t have a choice, do I?”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Jerk.”


	4. Chapter 4

“How’s your little investigation going?” Natasha asks before shoving another dumpling in her mouth. 

Steve shrugs. He’s a bit tipsy, bordering on drunk. “It’s going...slow.”

“Let me know if I can help...speed things up,” she says, gesturing vaguely with her chopsticks. “I mean, three heads are better than two, or whatever,”

“Huh,” Steve tilts his head to one side as he thinks about it. “It’s “two heads are better than one”, not “three heads better than two” isn’t it?” He pauses for a moment. “Or you could also say, four heads are better than three, five better than four, and so on.”

Natasha blinks. “This is like...that giant pumpkin story.” 

“What giant pumpkin story? Was I there?” 

Natasha bursts into giggles. “No, you dumbass, it’s like a folk story. The grandpa plants a big pumpkin or something and it’s so big he can’t pull it out, and then the grandma comes to help, and then the grandchild, and then the cat, or whatever, I don’t remember it well. You’ve never heard of that?”

Steve shakes his head. “I don’t think so.” 

“Huh,” Natasha tilts her head back for a moment. “I’m starting to feel a buzz. How strong was this goddamn beer?”

“Lemme check,” Steve lifts his bottle and his eyes widen. “Holy shit, 10% alcohol content. What country is this from?”

The redhead shrugs. “I didn’t ask. Anyway, what were we talking about?” She thinks for a moment, then snaps her fingers and points at Steve. “Your investigation. I was offering my help because I’m such a good friend.”

“Right, yeah. I’ll let you know if anything comes up. To be honest, we don’t have much to go on. Bucky’s trying to find one of the people involved and meet him under the pretense of being a potential client, I don’t know,” Steve waves a hand around. “I don’t understand his work.”

Natasha takes another swig of her beer. “What do you think of him now? Do you trust him?”

Steve shrugs. “As much as you can trust a guy you’ve known for two weeks,” Steve shrugs. “He’s alright though. He’s fun to be around.”

“Just be careful. Please.”

“Yes, mom,” Steve gives her a look. “What are you so worried about?”

“Barnes has a background in covert ops. He’s got the training to get himself out of tricky situations when things go south. But you don’t. And I know you’re smart, and you’re tough, but I don’t want you getting yourself killed. Just think to yourself. W-W-N-T-M-T-D: What Would Natasha Tell Me To Do?”

“Can you write it down? I’m never gonna remember that.”

Natasha gives him an unimpressed look. “Don’t sass me, Rogers. Oh, that reminds me. I think I’ve found your buyer.”

“Really?” Steve raises both eyebrows. “Are they clean?”

“He is. His money...might not be.” She puts her bowl away and gets cosy on the armchair, pulling the hood of her jacket over her head. “He’s a good guy, though. He works for a charity.”

“Works for? Not owns?” 

“Yep. I think he’s a manager or director or something. He’s the last surviving member of the Van Leeuwen dynasty, or something like that. So he’s got all this cash that he doesn’t know what to do with.”

Steve shrugs. “Fine, set up a meeting.”

“Oh my God, finally.” Natasha groans dramatically. “It’s been months.”

“Calm down, I said I’d meet him, not that I’ll sell.”

“I would strongly advise you to consider selling to this guy. He’ll take good care of her,” she says mockingly. 

He rolls his eyes. “It’s not about that. I just don’t want dirty money.”

“Steve, honey; all money is dirty money in this world.” She grins. “Hey, that rhymed. I should be a poet.”

Steve whistles. “I can almost picture the Pulitzer Prize on your mantelpiece.” He gets to his feet, expertly dodging the throw pillow Natasha aimed for his head, and starts cleaning up the empty containers of takeaway. 

Natasha moves from the armchair to the couch, pulling her favourite throw over her legs as she nestles in comfortably on one end of the chair, and not offering to help at all. Steve comes back and flops down next to her, handing her another beer. “Now, I have to ask you once again, to pay you your commission fee.”

She shakes her head. “Forget about it. I will take the sushi dinner and spa weekend, as previously agreed.”

“Nat, come on,” Steve insists. “It’s a ten million dollar sale. And you’ve worked really hard, and your client was kind of an asshole the entire time,” he says, poking fun at himself.

“Steve, it’s not like I’m short on cash. I’ve sold two other apartments just like this one, in the last two months. Really, I’d much rather we go out to a nice dinner.”

“And the spa.”

“The spa is non negotiable. We both deserve a weekend of pampering. I’ve found the best place upstate, you’ll love it. Your wallet might not, though.”

Steve laughs and slings an arm around her. “Don’t worry about my wallet, I’ll have a stern talk with him afterward.”

Natasha snorts a laugh and they fall silent as their chosen movie starts playing on Steve’s gigantic TV screen. That’s probably the only thing he’s taking away with him once he moves out, Steve thinks, even if it might be way too big for his new place. He’ll make it work. 

Predictably, Natasha falls asleep halfway through the movie of her choosing. Steve gets up slowly, trying not to disturb her, and she only wakes up briefly, mumbles, ‘Goodnight’ before stretching her legs out and going back to sleep. Steve smiles to himself; it’s become like tradition now. Friday night takeout, movie, and Natasha falling asleep on his couch. He pulls the blanket over her and lets her sleep, then heads to his bedroom. 

He checks his emails while he brushes his teeth and sees two texts from Bucky, sent only fifteen minutes ago. Something tells him Bucky might still be awake. He presses the call button and puts his phone on loudspeaker, setting it on his counter as he strips out of his clothes. 

“Hello?” Bucky picks up seconds later.

“Oh, hey,” Steve replies. “Wasn’t sure you’d pick up.” He takes his phone off the loudspeaker and puts it to his ear. “What did Nayeli say?”

“We just talked about cats and dogs. I’ve kind of left her on read.” Bucky explains. He sounds a little distracted. “She sent...she sent me a picture of her dog, he’s adorable.”

“Is this a bad time?”

“No, don’t worry about it, I’m just...” Bucky pasues to take a breath “Tinkering. Anyway, I didn’t want to say anything yet, thought she might get spooked and block me or something. But the good news is she’s alive, huh?”

Steve sighs as he sits down on his bed. “That’s a relief. Do you think she’s safe?”

“No idea. I tracked her IP address to Brussels. She might actually be in Europe for work, like her office said.”

Steve runs a hand over his stubbly cheek. “She hasn’t replied to any of my emails though.”

“Well, buddy, it might be that she’s just not that into you.” Bucky says, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“That’s hilarious. When are you meeting Lawrence? Did you find out what he does?”

“Yeah. Officially, he’s an accountant. He works at an auditing firm here in New York. Unofficially, it’s money laundering.”

Steve is quiet for a moment. “I gotta tell you, I never quite understood that whole money laundering thing. I mean, I understand it as a concept. In theory. But not sure how it actually works. Sorry,” he covers his face with his hand, realising belatedly that he’d been rambling. “I’m a bit tipsy. I think my brain has turned into mush.”

Bucky laughs softly. “Are you drunk dialing me, Rogers?”

“No.”

He laughs again. “You wanna go sleep it off, big guy?”

Steve’s chest floods with warmth. “Uh, yeah, I was about to hop into the shower when I called you.”

“What, were you gonna take your phone into the shower with you?” Bucky asks, teasing. 

“Shut up,” Steve smiles. “I’m gonna go. Let me know if you need anything.”

“Alright, buddy, good night.”

“G’night.” Steve hangs up and looks at his phone. The guy is growing on him, he can’t deny that. He’s also...somehow more attractive in his eyes now than when Steve first met him. Maybe it’s that they’ve been spending a lot of time together lately, sometimes working on the case, sometimes not, but he’s started to notice the little things, like the way Bucky would chew on his bottom lip when he’s trying to concentrate, deep in thought, or the tight t-shirts he’d wear that showed off his strong arms.

Steve shakes his head quickly, as if trying to rid his mind of the thoughts; it’s probably the alcohol talking, anyway. He heads back to his ensuite bathroom for a much needed hot shower and falls face-first into bed afterward, passing out almost instantly. 

The alarm on his nightstand rings at 07:00 on the dot, and Steve groans in annoyance that his blissful sleep has been interrupted by the loud, incessant beeping. He programmed the alarm clock to specifically ring in that annoying way to wake him up, and most days he manages to wake up before it rings, but today all he wants to do is stay in bed. 

Unfortunately, he’s got work to do. He pushes the heavy duvet off of him with a huff, and shivers as the cool air hits his bare skin. With another groan he gets up and goes about washing his face and looking for his swimsuit, opting to swim a few laps in the indoors swimming pool located in the basement of his building. At this hour, it’s usually empty, and it makes for a great morning workout - and yeah, okay, that’s another thing he’ll miss when he’s officially moved out.

By the time he’s showered, shaved, grabbed a coffee and sat down at his desk, it’s almost 10 o’clock. Half-heartedly, he opens the Word document he’s been working on and stares at the 500-odd words he’s managed to string together. It’s a boring article he’s got to write for an online magazine, and the only reason he took the job is because he does need the money, but he is struggling to power through it. Especially when there’s something bigger and more exciting he could be working on, but he’s got a deadline coming up and it’s a pretty straightforward job. 

Steve takes a break a couple hours later when he feels a headache coming on. He gets up and goes to get another cup of coffee, and his phone rings, the screen lighting up with Bucky’s name. 

“Hey, stranger,” he says when he picks up the phone and then cringes at himself. Okay - maybe it wasn’t the alcohol talking. Maybe, possibly, he’s got a tiny bit of a crush. 

“‘Morning,” Bucky’s cheery voice sounds through the loudspeaker. “How’s the hangover?”

Steve chuckles. “I’m alright, actually. I wasn’t that drunk. Are you calling with good news?”

“I wish. I was wondering if you wanted to hang out later on.” Bucky says, and pauses. “I’m officially inviting you to your first ever stakeout.”

“I thought you said they were boring.” Steve smiles at his phone as he paces around his living room. 

“They are boring, that’s why I’m inviting you to keep me company. You in?”

Steve thinks about it for a moment. He’s close to finishing the article he’s been working on, and he can always go over it tomorrow before he sends it off. “What time?” he asks.

“Pick you up around four?”

“See you then.”

Bucky ends the call and Steve stands still for a moment, looking at his darkened phone screen. Their relationship is starting to verge more on the friendly side than strictly professional. It’s not a bad thing, but it takes him by surprise. The man he’d met at the coffee shop two weeks ago was all business. 

Steve shakes his head and puts his phone in his pocket. He grabs his laptop and moves over to the couch, and goes through his emails, clearing some out of the way. He’s reached out to both companies’ PR teams to try and set up a meeting, but hasn’t received any response beyond the automated receipt email. Steve considers sending a second email, and if that doesn’t get him a response, he’ll just show up at the plant and start asking around. Sometimes that’s the best approach. He’s not under the impression he’ll find anything, but he has to do something. Afterwards, he starts going through his pile of documents, hoping to find something that he might’ve missed - any inconsistency, anything that looks suspicious, anything that’ll give him a reason to push for answers without putting the whistleblower in a difficult situation. 

Steve is still going over the documents, now messily scattered all over his coffee table, when Bucky calls him, saying he’s waiting for Steve outside. 

“Shit, sorry, I lost track of time.” Steve hurriedly gets to his feet. “Be there in five.”

“Alright, see you in five or I’m talking off. That’s not a joke, I will actually have to leave. Time-sensitive mission.”

“Right, okay. See you.”

Steve doesn’t bother to clean up his workspace even a little. He grabs his phone, shoes, keys and jacket and heads out the door. The elevator takes all of sixty seconds and he sprints from the lobby to Bucky’s car, opening the door and getting in without even saying hello. Bucky starts the car and pulls onto the busy road quickly, pulling a dodgy move that earns him a few angry honks from the car behind him. 

“Oops,” He grins as he takes off. “Sorry, I’m trying to get to this woman’s house before she does. Her husband left work about an hour ago. This is gonna be good.”

“What do you mean?” Steve asks, then swears as Bucky swerves onto 79th street. Steve grabs onto the handlebar above his door. “Are you trying to get us killed pal?”

“Don’t worry, I’m a good driver.”

“I can tell.” Steve says sarcastically. “Anyway, who’s this woman and her husband? Is it Vincent and his wife?”

“No, no, it’s a different case. It’s Stephanie Thomas, she’s the headmaster of this elite school in the East Village. I paid her a visit earlier asking questions about the scholarship fund, and I kind of let it be implied that I obtained some information from an officer of the law about some missing money.” Bucky pauses for a moment, and accelerates to get across the intersection before the light turns red. “Anyway, she’s probably freaked out, and her husband, he’s the CO over at the 10th Precinct-”

“Oh, so he’s probably in on it, too, huh?”

“Yep. That’s gonna make for a pretty epic argument.”

Steve thinks about it for a moment. “I’m guessing all this isn’t just to make them have an argument. I mean, that wouldn’t accomplish anything.”

“‘Course not. But if they start blaming each other for the supposed leak, I can grab enough info to find out how they’ve set up their operation. Oh yeah, I planted a bug in their house two days ago.” Bucky turns to glance and Steve and winks, grinning like the cat who got the canary. 

“Wow,” Steve nods his head slowly, impressed. “How’d you pull that off?”

“I went in as an electrician when neither were home. Their cleaner didn’t speak much English, but she didn’t mind letting me have a look around. The most important bit is to look the part.”

“You were wearing one of your disguises?” 

“I have a box at home with just khakis and overalls.” Bucky speeds through another red light. 

“Who tipped you off anyway? About the scholarship fund.” Steve asks. He is curious about the kind of work Bucky does - or used to do as a spy - but he hasn’t asked about it that much. Bucky seemed to be the secretive type. Seemed.

“One of the teachers. She’s friends with Scott, that friend I told you about with the security consulting startup. He asked me if I can look into it. Favour for a favour.”

“Is that the official currency of spies and ex-cons?”

Bucky gives him a sideways glance. “That is an astute observation.” He says, and they fall silent for a while, with only the music playing on the radio acting as background noise as they drive to the house. Ten minutes later, Bucky pulls the car over the curb, and turns the ignition off. 

“Just in time,” Bucky mutters to herself. He twists and reaches towards the backseat and pulls out his laptop, and a set of wireless headphones. He opens a webpage and types in a password, turns the volume up and then puts his laptop away. “Okay, here we go,” Bucky says, gesturing for Steve to lean in closer so they can both hear through the headphones. 

The fight that erupts between the spouses is one of the worst Steve’s ever heard. It starts as a heated argument and soon the woman is crying while the husband hurls insults at her, but, surprisingly, she gives as good as she gets. They bring up old fights, throwing things in each other’s face and the conversation derails the longer the fight goes on. At some point, there’s a crash, and the sound of glass breaking into hundreds of pieces as it collides with a hard surface. 

“Ah, shit,” Bucky says, pulling his phone out and handing it to Steve. “Do me a favour? Call the cops?”

Steve takes the phone from him, their fingers brushing together as he does. “Buck, he is the cops.”

“Ask to speak to someone at his precinct, tell them there's a domestic disturbance at this address,” Bucky hands him a piece of crumpled paper he pulls out of his own pocket. “They won’t send out a car to one of their own. The aim here is to get them to think the neighbours are listening and they need to calm down.”

“Got it.”

“Now shush.” Bucky puts the headphones over his ears, but leaves one uncovered so he can still hear Steve. Once Steve is done with his call, Bucky lets him listen in on the argument again.

As predicted, the Lieutenant gets a phone call from his precinct, informing him of the report they've received, and that sparks a different argument between the two, though they keep their voices down somewhat. Eventually, they calm down. The man tells the woman he’ll go meet with Rick, and see if they can do anything to clean up the mess. Bucky exclaims in triumph. 

“Now we wait,” He says, putting the headphones away. “Husband leads us to Rick and tomorrow we’ll go pay Rick a visit.”

“You know, I do have a job of my own.” Steve says, teasing him.

“Sorry. I’ll go pay Rick a visit.” Bucky says, not sounding sorry at all. “You can sit at home and write about whether unicorns are real, or whatever it is you do all day.”

Steve laughs, the sound startled out of him. “Jerk.”

They end up staying parked at the curb for another two and a half hours before the husband leaves the house, but the time passes by rather quickly. They hardly even notice it’s gotten dark outside. Bucky tells him about another case he’d been working on the week before, and how he’d accidentally got himself a date with a woman and had to pretend he was going out of town for several months to get out of it. Steve can’t help but laugh, and Bucky shoves him, hard. 

“Thanks for laughing at my pain, asshole.”

Steve presses his lips together, taking a moment to compose himself. “I’m sorry, but what were you expecting? You were flirting with her.”

“I’m always flirting with women! It’s a really effective tactic.” Bucky shrugs, though he’s smiling. “I didn’t think it would get that far.”

“You gotta be careful, Buck, you can’t go around breaking hearts like that.”

“It wasn’t my fault!” Bucky throws his head back with a defeated sigh. “Do you like women, Steve?”

Steve blinks, surprised. “Uhh...yeah?” He wants to say that he likes men, too, but he decides against it; he doesn’t want to be too obvious.

“Is it true that women want what they can't have? Because I’ve found that to be true, in my experience.”

Steve thinks about it for a moment. “Isn’t that true of everyone? I mean, doesn’t knowing that you can’t have something make you want it more?”

Bucky turns his head and looks at him for a long moment, a small smile on his lips. “Yeah, guess so,” he whispers, and it sounds almost wistful.

“Like Ryan Gosling.”

Bucky groans. “I regret telling you that.” He says, and it makes Steve laugh again. They lapse into a comfortable silence, the soft music playing on the radio serving as background noise for their stakeout. The last rays of the sun have long disappeared, but the light from the lamppost they’re parked under illuminates the space they’re in just enough.

“So, are you bored yet?” Bucky asks some time later, smiling a half smile, and looking at Steve. 

“Not yet,” Steve replies, holding his gaze.

“Well, give it time.”

“Do you get bored?”

“Nah,” Bucky says. “I bring things with me to pass the time. Crosswords, games, you,”

Steve laughs quietly. “I gotta say, I don’t think I’ve ever been objectified quite like this.”

“Oh, please,” Bucky breaks eye contact, looking at the house ahead of them. “You get objectified every time you leave the house, looking the way you do. Heads up, there goes Lieutenant Thomas. Let’s see where this bastard leads us.”

He leads them nowhere. Bucky tails him to a bar only a few blocks away, and they watch as the man gets out of his car and goes inside. Bucky sighs, eyebrows knitting together. 

“I’m gonna go inside. You alright waiting here?”

Steve blinks. “You’re kidding, right? I’m coming with you.”

Bucky seems hesitant. “Are you good undercover?”

“Sure,” Steve says. It might not be 100% accurate. He’s not as good a liar as he’d like, but really, only trained covert operatives - and his mother - were ever able to catch him in a lie, so he’s alright. 

“Okay, just…” Bucky trails off, still looking unconvinced. “Don’t get us caught, okay?”

“I’ll do my best.”

Bucky finds them a table from where he can see the bar where the man is sitting at one end on his own, sipping a bottle of beer. Steve watches him for a couple of minutes, but there isn’t anything to see. As far as anyone in the bar is concerned, he’s just a man, having a drink. He turns to look at Bucky to see him pretending to study the drinks menu, but his gaze keeps flitting between the menu card in his hands and the man at the bar. 

Half an hour later, and nothing. Bucky takes a sip of his drink, finishing it off before setting it down on the table. “I’m starting to think this Rick guy doesn’t actually exist.”

“Do you think he’s texting with the guy?” Steve asks, watching the man more curiously now. He’s been checking his phone every two seconds. “Maybe they’ve never met in person.”

Bucky’s face brightens. “But his wife probably doesn’t know that, huh?” he says, then turns to face Steve, looking serious. “Okay, now you really have to stay here, okay? Don’t follow me, don’t get involved, just - stay put.”

Steve nods, holding up his hand, his smallest finger extended towards Bucky. “Pinky promise.”

Bucky rolls his eyes and gets to his feet, grabbing his empty glass and heading towards the bar. He slams his glass on the countertop and asks the bartender for another drink, speaking more loudly than necessary. He sways on his feet a little then leans on the wooden countertop. Steve watches as he leans towards the Lieutenant and says something to him, but over the sound of music thumping from the speakers, it’s inaudible to Steve. The Lieutenant tries to move away from him, and places his phone in his jacket’s pocket, only for Bucky to slide it back out with two fingers, expertly hiding it in his jacket’s sleeve. Steve smiles, shaking his head. 

Bucky grabs his new drink and turns to go, then sways and stumbles onto another customer, who cries out, startled. 

“Alright, alright!” Bucky shouts back at the patron and puts his arms up in surrender. He walks back and puts his drink back on the counter, and turns to say something to the bartender. Then he turns and exclaims, “Goodnight, New York!” addressing everyone at the bar, and then looks at Steve, signaling with a slight nod of his head that it’s time to go. 

“Let’s get out of here,” Bucky grabs Steve by the arm as they cross the road quickly and head towards his car. 

“Did I just watch you steal an NYPD Lieutenant’s cell phone?”

Bucky shrugs, giving Steve an innocent look. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Do you mind driving?” 

Steve catches the keys Bucky throws at him and unlocks the car, getting into the driver’s seat. Bucky grabs the laptop he’d stashed in the boot and gets in the passenger seat. 

“What’s the plan here?” Steve asks. He tries to start the ignition but it sputters and gives out, even as he tries twice more. He looks at Bucky for help. 

“Here,” Bucky leans over and voila, like magic, he turns the key and the car starts. “It does that sometimes.”

Steve blinks. “Okay. So, the plan?”

“Uh, I think the best thing would be to drive around for a while. He probably has GPS tracking on this thing, I’m not gonna lead him directly to my house with it.”

“What are you gonna do with it?” Steve asks again, keeping his eyes on the road.

Bucky rifles through the glove compartment and pulls out a connector cable and plugs the phone to his laptop. “This is a decryption program, but it might take a while to crack his password, unless it’s something like, I don’t know, ‘password’. The plan is to get Rick’s number, find out who this guy is. If you haven’t noticed, I’m kind of winging it here, Rogers,”

“I’ve noticed,” Steve looks at him from the corner of his eye and smiles. “What are you gonna do with the phone when you’re done with it?”

“Not sure yet,” Bucky chews on his bottom lip. “Might toss it into the East River.”

Steve laughs at the mental image. He makes a left turn and continues driving at a leisurely pace. It’s kind of nice, driving around with no specific destination. Next to him, Bucky is typing away on his laptop, doing God knows what. Steve can’t even begin to understand the specifics of computer science, nor does he care to. 

“I could try to put a mirroring app on it,” Bucky mumbles, talking to himself. “Don’t know if it’s worth the hassle. I mean, if my phone got stolen, I’d get rid of it as soon as I got it back.”

“See, that’s what makes you a paranoid bastard,” Steve looks at him from the corner of his eye, a playful smirk on his lips. “Normal people don’t go around thinking their phones have been compromised. They think a kind stranger found it on the street and is returning it out of the goodness of their heart.”

“Yeah, yeah, so you’ve said. You can drive back to your place, if you’d like,” Bucky says. “Drop yourself off and I’ll head back to mine.”

Steve thinks it over for a moment. He wants to say that he doesn’t mind driving around with Bucky, getting caught up in his shenanigans, but maybe it’s time to call it a night. He inhales deeply and lets the breath out, leaning his head back for a moment while stopped at a red light, and says, “Sounds good.”

“Thanks for helping out, today,” Bucky tells him, sounding sincere. 

Steve turns his head and holds his gaze for a moment. “Anytime. I hardly did anything.”

“Still.” Bucky gives him a small smile and turns his attention back to his laptop. 

Steve nods and the light turns green, and he hits the gas pedal and starts driving home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Gigantic_Turnip
> 
> the folk story natasha mentions that i vaguely remember hearing as a child


	5. Chapter 5

“Hello?”

“Agent Carter!” Bucky says in his cheeriest voice. “Long time no speak. Whereabouts are you these days?”

Sharon sighs. “Barnes,” she says curtly. “It’s three in the morning.”

“Oops, my bad. I need a favour.”

“Of course you need a favour.” Sharon says, not sounding pleased in the slightest. “What is it?”

“How would you feel about escorting a young woman out of Europe so she can safely return to her homeland?” Bucky asks. He picks up his phone and goes to grab a snack from his pantry. Sharon doesn’t respond, so he adds, “It shouldn’t be too dangerous. It’s more of a just in case type thing.”

“Would you care to elaborate?”

Bucky takes a deep breath. “Whistleblower. Apparently she saw some things she wasn’t supposed to, and her company shipped her off to Brussels for ‘legit work reasons’, but you know how it is. I spoke to her today. She sounded scared. She says she’s handed in her notice and they made her sign some NDAs, supposedly standard procedure for employees who wish to leave the company.”

Sharon is quiet for a moment as she thinks about it. “So what’s the problem?”

“Honestly, it’s just for my own peace of mind. I’d fly out to meet her, but you know-”

“Yeah, yeah, okay, listen. I’m in the middle of an assignment in Helsinki. I can’t just up and leave. When is she due to fly back?”

Bucky checks his calendar. Nayeli had told him she had three more weeks left on her contract before she could leave. “Early July. Think you can manage?”

“I might.” Sharon groans softly. “You owe me one. A big one.”

“You’re the best,” Bucky grins. 

“Don’t try to flatter me. And don’t call me in the middle of the night anymore.”

“Thank youuuuu,” Bucky drags out the vowel until the call ends abruptly when Sharon hangs up on him. He smiles, pleased with himself, and puts his phone in his pocket. He grabs his camera and his laptop and heads out. He runs into his next door neighbour, a middle aged single mother of two, who, for some reason, hates him. She gives him a dirty look and he smiles in return, which really only annoys her more; he’s in a good mood, so it doesn’t bother him in the slightest. 

Bucky sings along to whatever song comes on his barely-functioning radio as he drives out of Brooklyn, heading towards Williamsburg, and from there crosses the bridge to Manhattan. The intel he got from Luis’ contact said, Lawrence’s errand boy, Jakob, hangs out at the gym he part-owns in Hell’s Kitchen, and Bucky figured that’d be the best way to approach him, but he plans to follow him around for a day or two, try to get to know him from a distance. 

He’s parked outside the gym, watching and waiting, when his phone rings. Bucky thinks he’ll let it go to voicemail, but once he sees the caller ID, he changes his mind. 

“Hello, Steven,”

“Hello yourself, James,” Steve says, a sarcastic edge to his tone. “Are you doing anything fun?”

Bucky shrugs. “Not really. Why do you ask?”

“I’m trying to put together things I want to include in my article and...it’s a mess. I need a break from it. Please tell me you’ve got some news.”

“I do, actually. I spoke to Nayeli this morning. She’s coming back to New York in a few weeks, and I’ve asked a friend-” Bucky sits up as soon as he sees Jakob walking out of the gym. “Hold on a minute,” he tells Steve, and starts the car while simultaneously swapping his phone for his Bluetooth earpiece.

“Bucky? Hello?” Steve asks after a long moment of silence. 

“Yeah, sorry,” Bucky pulls out onto the road and starts following Jakob’s black Mercedes. “I may or may not be tailing someone as we speak. Anyway, I’ve asked a friend to escort her back and she’ll bring her straight to my place from the airport, so it should be fine.”

“That’s great news. Did she tell you anything else? About the case?”

“No, and I don’t think she’ll be able to help us anymore. She’s handed in her notice at Olsen Pharmaceuticals.” 

Steve sighs. “Well, that’s not great, but at least she’s safe. You don’t think they’ll come after her, or anything?”

Bucky doesn’t answer immediately because the driver in the car in front of him tries to change lanes in the middle of the intersection, and Bucky has to hit the brakes so as not to crash into her. He honks at her and she sticks her hand out the window and gives him the peace sign. Bucky closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. 

“Sorry, some asshole was just testing my patience. What did you ask?”

Steve laughs, amused. “I said, do you think she’ll be okay? They won’t come after her?”

“Honestly, I don’t know. My advice would be to get out of town for a while, lay low, at least until - Hey, watch it, asshole!” 

“Sounds like you’re having fun. I’m starting to feel left out.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Right,” he says sarcastically. “You’re welcome to join me if you’re that bored.”

“I really am,” Steve admits. “Where are you now? Can you pick me up?”

“Can’t, sorry. I don’t wanna lose this guy. I’ll drop you a pin when I get there...wherever that may be.”

“Alright, see you soon.”

“Bring me coffee.” Bucky says before he hangs up. 

Bucky follows a guy to a cafe a few blocks away where he’s meeting his girlfriend for a late lunch, from the looks of things. Steve shows up twenty minutes later, and when Bucky sees him approaching in his rearview mirror, carrying two iced coffees from the Starbucks down the street, he melts a little. 

“I can’t believe you actually brought me coffee,” is the first thing Bucky says when Steve gets in the car. 

Steve seems confused. “Why wouldn’t I? You asked for it.”

“I didn’t ask  _ nicely _ ,” Bucky takes the cup he’s being offered, and looks at the barista’s scribbles on the label. “You even splurged for whipped cream, Christ. Are you an angel?”

Steve barks out a laugh. “Not even close. Who are we spying on today?”

Bucky lets his gaze linger on him for a moment longer, before he turns his attention back to his target. He gives Steve an update with everything he’s managed to learn about the guy. They stay parked outside the cafe for a couple of hours before the man takes off, and they follow him to a parking lot near the East River. Jakob gets out of his car and walks towards the ticket booth, where he lingers for a while, checking his watch every few minutes. 

“You think he’s waiting for someone?”

“Looks that way.” Bucky leans back, casually resting his hands on the steering wheel. “We might be here a while.”

“You wanna play ‘I spy’?” Steve asks, making him laugh. 

“What?”

“It’s this car game people sometimes-”

“I know what it is. You’re a sarcastic asshole, you know that?”

Steve flashes him a grin, and damn if it isn’t charming as hell. Bucky looks at him for a moment before he tears his gaze away, glancing towards the guy he’s supposed to be tailing and realises they’ve been made. 

Bucky straightens up, shoulders tensing. He swears under his breath, as his mind starts racing, trying to come up with a way to keep their cover from being blown. “Hey,” he says, turning his head to look at Steve, “Kiss me.”

It catches Steve off guard and causes him to choke on his coffee, sending him into a coughing fit. 

Bucky laughs, and speaks through gritted teeth. “Dude, what the fuck? It’s not like I asked you to fuck me in the backseat.”

Steve looks a little embarrassed by his overreaction, though still a little alarmed. “Sorry - you surprised me.”

Bucky nods. “Right. The guy’s looking at us. The quickest way to make him look away...” he explains, speaking slowly as if to a child. “...is to start making out. You good with that?”

“Don’t patronize me,” Steve shoots him a glare. He squares his shoulders and sets his jaw. “Okay, let’s do this.”

Bucky bites back another laugh, but his amusement is evident in the glint in his eyes. “Okay, relax, we’re not going to fight or anything. Come closer,” he says, shifting in his seat and tucking one leg under the other, and leaning closer to Steve. 

Steve looks like he’s going to burst into laughter as Bucky lifts his arm, placing it on the back of Steve’s neck; sure enough, when their lips are mere inches apart, Steve breaks down and giggles, dropping his head. 

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, the back of his neck starting to flush a light pink colour. 

Bucky shakes his head, puts his hands on either side of Steve’s face and lifts his head, their eyes meeting again. He leans in, moving quickly to catch him by surprise, pressing his lips firmly to Steve’s. It’s only a quick, closed-lipped kiss, and then Bucky moves away, giving the other man a chance to protest, to say if he’s changed his mind, but if they want to keep their cover, they’re gonna have to  _ really _ sell it. Steve doesn’t say anything, though his lips are slightly parted as he looks at Bucky, holding his gaze. Bucky reaches out again and puts a hand on Steve’s cheek, mutters, “C’mere,” and closes the gap between them again. 

Maybe it’s the fact that it’s been a while since he’s so much as kissed a man, or shared any physical intimacy at all, but the kiss breaks something inside him, and warmth floods through his chest, like water bursting through a dam. A quiet little moan slips out his mouth as he feels Steve’s arm wrapping around his back, hand sliding up and into Bucky’s hair, fingers twisting in his locks while they kiss. Steve’s mouth is so soft, gently moving against his own as their lips slot together again and again; he tastes of chocolate and coffee, and Bucky can’t get enough. He realises he’s getting carried away when his hand, resting on Steve’s thigh, starts making its way up, and Bucky moves away, breaking the kiss abruptly. 

Steve’s eyes flutter open and his gaze locks with Bucky’s, and neither of them speaks for a moment, the silence between them charged with something electric.

Steve asks, “Is he still looking?” and his voice sounds raspy in a way that  _ does things _ to Bucky. 

He glances at the man through the windshield. “No, he’s not.” 

Half an hour later, the man Jakob had been waiting to meet shows up, and it’s none other than Lawrence Jenkins, carrying a thin silver briefcase, which he hands to the man. Bucky grabs his camera and starts shooting, trying his best to be discreet. After he’s got a few good shots, he puts his camera away and turns in his seat, facing Steve. 

“I’m gonna follow Jakob, see who he’s going to meet.” He says, and pauses for a moment, trying to pick his next words carefully. “Do you want to come along?”

Steve glances at him briefly. The expression on his face is inscrutable. Then he looks away, glancing out his window towards the river. “Yeah, I’ll come with. I want to see who he’s meeting.”

Bucky nods silently. 

“I have a feeling Lawrence is the guy paying off the people at the plant.” 

“That’d be my bet, too,” Bucky says and clears his throat. He feels a little...awkward. “Hey, can you like, uh, pretend we’re talking about something.”

Steve looks surprised when he turns to look at him. “We  _ are _ talking...”

“Yeah, I mean,” Bucky chuckles, a little nervous. “Like, turn towards me or something. You look kind of - I mean, try to be a bit more casual. They might look at us again, I don’t want them to get suspicious.”

Steve seems to catch on. He leans his seat back a little and sits sideways, folding one leg under the other and leaning back on the backrest. He even reaches out towards Bucky, tucking a stray lock of hair behind his ear. “Is this better?”

Bucky feels a shiver run down his spine as Steve’s hand grazes against his skin ever so slightly. He clears his throat before he speaks. “You’re pretty good undercover.”

Steve smiles, diverts his gaze down to the only point of contact between them, where his knee is pressed against Bucky’s thigh, and slowly looks back up again, meeting Bucky’s eye again. If Bucky didn’t know better, he’d think he was being seduced; Steve is so goddamn  _ smooth _ . It’s kind of too bad that it’s all an act because he would seriously consider moving things to the backseat, if only the sun would hurry up and set so they could just rip their clothes-

Bucky stops that train of thought before it gets ahead of him, because he’s not gonna go and violate his one and only rule - no mixing work and romance under any circumstances - for someone who is practically still a stranger. He knows better than that.

Unfortunately, he seems to have lost control of his mouth, because before he knows it, he finds himself asking, “You sure your girlfriend won’t get jealous?”

Steve licks his lips. “I’m sure she’ll understand,” he says, voice low. 

Bucky swallows thickly. Out of the corner of his eye, he detects motion, and he waits until both men have gotten in their respective cars and driven off before he sits forward and starts his car again. They follow Jakob to a park not far from where they were, where he sits on a bench and waits for a while before a different man shows up and takes the briefcase from him, and Bucky captures the exchange on his camera, then decides to call it a night. He’ll look into the mystery man Jakob was meeting, but that can wait until tomorrow. 

After a fretful night, Bucky awakens at the early hours of the morning, having slept for only a few hours here and there, with strange, stressful dreams waking him up several times during the night. He decides to hit the gym and burn off some of his excess energy before he gets to work; once he’s showered and had his morning cup of coffee, he settles down on his couch and grabs his laptop. A few hours later, he’s identified the man who received the briefcase from Jakob as one Gerald Smith, a mid-level manager who works at Solarce. He’s got no criminal record, but between his recent messy divorce and his teenage daughter being in and out of hospitals for the last three years, Bucky thinks he should have been an easy target to bribe into playing his part in causing the blackouts. He’s got photographs of the exchange of what was presumably a cash bribe, but that makes it harder for him to trace the money back to Olsen.

They’re building a good case against the man, Bucky thinks. Unfortunately, things don’t go exactly as planned. Scott calls him later in the afternoon and delivers the bad news. 

“I’ll send over everything we’ve got, but I have a feeling you won’t find anything useful.” Scott says, sounding apologetic. 

Bucky sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Did you get a chance to look at his personal laptop?”

“No, the guy’s paranoid. He keeps it locked in a safe in his office.”

“Any chance you could swipe it?”

“No way,” Scott answers quickly. “That’s way too risky, and I told you, I’m not going to get caught red handed, not me, not my crew.”

“Sorry, you’re right,” Bucky sighs again. “I’ll swing by later to pick up the documents. Hey, at least you’ve got your first client, congratulations.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he scoffs. “First client and we’re stealing all his secure files. At this rate, we’ll be out of business by the end of the year.”

“Would it make you feel any better if I remind you, once again, this is not a good person?”

Scott hesitates for a moment. “I’ll believe you when he’s behind bars.”

Bucky laughs, a bitter sound. “Yeah, I’m sure that’s where he’ll end up. Anyway, listen, thanks man, really. I’ll bring over some champagne for you and the guys. Maybe an extra bottle especially for Kurt?”

“Get him those weird fancy chocolates he likes, but it might be better if you swing by my place later on. I’ll put everything on a flash drive. I gotta go now, because we do actually have to do a good job for this Olsen guy. Keep the customer happy, and all. See you later.”

Bucky taps the little red button on his screen, ending the call. That’s three more things on his to-do list for today. He groans and flops down on his couch, dreading the amount of documents he’s going to have to go through, especially since there’s little hope of finding anything. Then it occurs to him that he can invite Steve over and they can split the workload between them. 

Yeah, it’ll be fine. That’s the whole basis of their relationship - working the case. He pulls out his phone and sends him a quick text.  _ ‘I’ve got some new data for us to look through. You feel like lending a hand?’  _ Steve replies only moments later, and they decide to meet up later and go over it together. 

Bucky stops by Scott’s house a little after seven p.m., and he comes bearing the gifts as promised. To his surprise, Cassie is the one who opens the door, and as soon as she sees him, she runs back inside, calling for her dad to come meet the strange man at the door. Bucky laughs and closes the door behind him before he walks in, following the girl through the hallway that leads to the kitchen. 

“Honey, be careful with that,” Scott says, grabbing the knife from his daughter’s hands and putting it aside, then looks up as Bucky appears in the doorway. “Oh, Barnes, it’s you. I thought she was playing a prank on Paxton again.”

Bucky’s eyebrows shoot up in amusement. “Clearly, she’s learning from the best.” he says, setting the bag on the kitchen island and pulling out its contents. “As promised, champagne and chocolates. And this is for you,” 

Cassie’s eyes grow wide at the sight of the giant lollipop, and she leans over the island to make a grab for it. “Thank you, Mr. Barnes.”

“You can call me Bucky. What are you guys making?” he asks, looking at the mess around the kitchen; there’s flour sprinkled here and there, tomato sauce spilled on the countertop, and a variety of sliced deli meats and vegetables. 

“Pizza,” Cassie answers. She goes to unwrap the lollipop but Scott stops her, extending his hand and asking her to hand it over. She does as she’s told, but pouts and climbs down from the barstool, running off to the living room and turning the TV on. 

“You wanna stay for dinner?” Scott asks, leaning down to check on the pizza in the oven. 

“Nah, I’m alright, thanks,” Bucky says. “I’ve got to get cracking on these files you’ve got for me.”

Scott nods and goes to retrieve the flash drive from where he’s stashed it in a locked cabinet in his bedroom, and Bucky wanders over to where Cassie is sat, eyes glued to the big screen mounted on the wall opposite her.

“What’re you watching?”

Cassie doesn’t look away from the TV. “Powerbirds. Do you like it? It’s my favourite, except for SpongeBob Squarepants. And Doc McStuffins. Do you watch cartoons for grown ups?” she asks, turning to look at him curiously.

“Cartoons for grown ups? Like Rick and Morty?”

Cassie nods and turns her attention back to the show. “I saw it on YouTube but my Mommy doesn’t let me watch it. She says they’re for grown ups.”

Bucky laughs softly. “Well, you’ll be able to watch those when you’re older.”

“That’s what everyone says.” Cassie sighs dramatically, making Bucky laugh again. 

Scott returns then, and hands the flash drive over to Bucky, who thanks him again. He says goodbye to Cassie, who waves at him without so much as glancing away from the TV, and turns to leave. Scott sees him to the door and wishes him good luck on the case, and to let him know if he needs anything. 

Bucky puts the flash drive in his denim jacket’s pocket as he walks to his car. He puts his sunglasses on, starts the ignition, and drives off, heading to Steve’s apartment to pick him up once again. While stopped at a red light, he digs around his glove compartment for his tape and inserts it into the cassette slot, and then connects his phone with the stereo cable attached to it. Some music might help calm his nerves, or distract him. It’s kind of ridiculous that he’s nervous to meet Steve, but he’s somehow got this idea in his head that things might be awkward because of their impromptu make out session yesterday, and he can’t shake it off.

When he sees Steve waiting for him on the curb, he realises it wasn’t nervousness - that feeling turning his stomach upside down was anticipation;  _ excitement.  _ Bucky closes his eyes for a moment in an effort to gather himself together. It doesn’t help that Steve is looking like a snack, and he’s not even  _ trying _ . He’s dressed in jeans and a plaid shirt over a white tee, paired with his usual sunglasses and the messenger bag over his shoulder. Bucky wants to devour him.

Steve smiles as soon as he sees Bucky pulling over on the sidewalk and he raises a hand in a wave before he quickly crosses the street and gets in the car. Bucky gets a waft of his cologne and his grip on the steering wheel tightens.  _ God. Damn. _

“So, what’s this new data you’ve got?” Steve asks.

“You remember I told you about that friend of mine who was gonna go in as security consultants for Olsen’s company?”

“Oh, right!” Steve perks up. “Have we got anything good?”

Bucky clicks his tongue. “Probably not. They couldn’t get access to his personal laptop. But we’ve got all of the confidential files of Olsen Pharmaceuticals...so we gotta go through the pile and see if there’s anything there.”

Steve groans. “I hate this part of the job.”

“Me too, pal.”

They pick up pizza from a local takeaway near Bucky’s place and a few beers from the bodega down the street, but by the end of the night, they’ve drunk those, and gone through an entire case Bucky already had in the fridge, because neither of them wants to go through boring paperwork sober. Between the seemingly endless spreadsheets, financial reports, hundreds of pages of minutes from board meetings, scientific reports that neither of them can fully understand, it takes them a good four hours to comb through everything. 

“Steve,” Bucky calls out from where he’s slumped on the floor, leaning against his couch. “I’m done. I’m done with this.” He pushes his laptop off of him and gets to his feet, stretching with his hands linked together above his head. 

Steve looks up at him and blinks. He looks like he’s seconds away from falling asleep, but still, somehow, cute as fuck. Bucky hates him a little for that. 

“Yeah, fuck it,” Steve puts his own laptop away. “We’re not gonna find anything. Makes sense that they’re being extra careful to avoid another scandal. The company seems clean, it’s Olsen who’s dirty, that sleazy bastard.” He drops his face in his hands and groans, then stands up. “I’m done, too.”

Bucky sighs. “Sometimes you come to a dead end. We’ll…” he stops, and places his hands on his hips with another exhale. “Honestly, I don’t know what our next move should be. My brain has clocked out. I need to sleep.” He says and walks towards his bed, falling on it face-first. “You’re welcome to crash here if you want.”

Steve shuffles from foot to foot. “I should probably go...” he trails off, but comes up with no excuses. One downside of working in freelance is the ‘I have work in the morning’ excuse doesn’t really work, because you’re your own boss, capable of setting your own hours. 

Bucky gets to his feet and goes about finding a spare set of linens from his cupboard. “The couch pulls out. I can drive you back in the morning, I’m headed that way anyway.” 

“Thanks,” Steve says with a sigh of relief. “I’m actually exhausted.”

“Don’t mention it.” 

Bucky helps him set up the couch as his temporary bed and offers him a t-shirt to sleep in. He tries to busy himself clearing some of the empty bottles away, keeps his gaze away as Steve strips out of his clothes. When Bucky looks towards him, Steve is nestled under his blanket, trying to get comfortable. Bucky looks at him for a moment, and there’s the butterflies in his stomach again, making him feel giddy - thought that might partly be the alcohol in his system.

“Would you like a bedtime story?” he asks, walking towards him.

Steve huffs a laugh. “No, but a white noise machine would be great.”

“Jerk,” Bucky nudges him with his knee and then walks towards his bed, flopping down on it with a deep sigh. He kind of wishes he hadn’t let Steve know about the couch, but the thought of sleeping next to another person scares him more than he’d like to admit. Sharing a bed for sex is one thing, but allowing someone to be next to you when you’re at your most vulnerable…he’s not sure he’s up for that, not yet anyway. 

Bucky groans and turns to lie on his side, shoving an arm under his pillow, but the thought won’t leave his mind. He huffs and turns again. 

“Are you okay?” Steve asks, his voice quieter than usual. 

“Yeah, sorry, I don’t fall asleep easily.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Steve says, shuffling from side to side. “This kind of thing makes me miss college.”

“Are you nostalgic for the good ol’ days, Rogers?” Bucky asks, unable to stop himself from teasing the man.

“Maybe a little. Is that so bad?” 

Bucky smiles to himself. His eyes are closed but he doesn’t feel as sleepy anymore. It might be because he’s still tense from the day’s events. It might be the blonde currently laid up on his couch. 

“Not at all,” he says in response. 

“My roommate in college used to talk in his sleep. It was hilarious.”

“Oh, fuck, that was one of my worst fears when I was younger. I was scared…” Bucky trails off, and pauses, hesitating. “Don’t laugh, okay? I was scared I’d accidentally out myself in my sleep.”

Steve laughs, but it’s a short, soft chuckle, so Bucky lets him have it. “I can understand that.”

“I enlisted in the army after high school.” The sentence slips out of his lips before Bucky has a chance to catch himself. He doesn’t say anything further, but Steve doesn’t ask. “Couple of weeks into bootcamp, I thought, fuck it, what’s the point of hiding? I let something slip when talking to one guy, and let the word get out.” Strangely, the memory brings a smile to his lips. “It wasn’t that bad after that,” he mutters. 

“Now who’s being nostalgic?” Steve teases him back, and Bucky rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, sue me. I met some of my closest friends in that bootcamp.”

“Friends?”

Bucky bites his lip, and he hates that he can’t see Steve right now, but he can almost picture the smirk he’s undoubtedly wearing. “Yes, _ friends _ . I don’t fuck every guy I get close to, you know.”

“Shame.”

Bucky forgets how to breathe. Did Steve just say what he thinks he said? What is he even supposed to say to something like that? Or is he completely misinterpreting things? He battles his mind for a moment, trying to think of something to say, but comes up empty. 

Steve lets out a long and lengthy yawn then, and says, “Goodnight, Buck,” and Bucky listens as she shuffles on the couch again and slowly drifts off to sleep, his breathing evening out as he does. 


	6. Chapter 6

Steve is convinced he’s sabotaged the case he’s working on because of his inability to keep his mouth shut and thus alienating the person he’s supposed to be working with. All because his inhibitions were somewhat lowered by the six or seven beers he’d had while they pored over several dozens of useless documents. 

It’s been over a week since he last saw Bucky, and they haven’t spoken much in that time either. There hasn’t been a reason to meet, no one to tail, no new developments whatsoever. Bucky had told him that he was working on a new angle to meet Lawrence as a potential client, to try to get some information for how he runs things, but that wasn’t something Steve could help with. Espionage was not one of his strong points. 

So, Steve does what he knows best; interviewing people, gathering information, trying to think of what he’ll include in his final article. He has a few solid pages of bullet point notes, and he’s happy with that. He’d set up a few interviews with some floor managers at each of the energy companies he was researching, to talk to them about the blackouts. He didn’t have hope of finding much, but that didn’t bother him. He could use the things they told him to talk about how the people pulling the strings operated without raising any suspicion amongst their employees, and that would make a great intro, he thinks. He’s also written a couple other articles in that timespan, and cashed in a good amount from them, so he’s all set.

Steve’s biggest problem right now is that Bucky has gone incommunicado. Okay - maybe that’s an exaggeration. Bucky had texted him just that morning. He’d sent him a link to a thread with pictures of cats sitting on glass tables, and said _‘this is what i’ve been doing for the last 20 mins’._ Steve opens his phone and looks at the text again, smiling to himself. He hasn’t responded yet, because he has no idea what to say, because he’s overthinking everything. 

He didn’t think it would be such a big deal if he jokingly flirted with a guy who had previously alluded to the fact that he found Steve at least objectively attractive. I mean, he’d told him on one occasion to _‘wear a tight shirt_ ’ and on another that Steve _‘gets objectified every time he leaves the house’_ . That wasn’t _nothing,_ right? They’re not _compliments_ , but he’d imagine the person who said those things was at the very least recognising that Steve was attractive, right? All Steve had done was vaguely imply that he would be open to the idea of a more physical relationship. It was barely even flirting, really. It was _one word._

Steve groans, and covers his face with both hands. This is ridiculous. He should’ve just kept his thoughts to himself. But every time he thinks about Bucky, he remembers the kiss they shared in his car, and the memory gives him butterflies. 

Okay, he’s done overthinking. Steve looks at the time and realises he has to leave the house in ten minutes if he wants to make it on time to the barbecue Natasha invited him to. He’s not really in the mood to socialise, but he promised her he would show up, at least for a while. Steve sighs and heads to the bathroom to have a quick shower, pulling his shirt over his head as he goes. 

He arrives a little after nine o’clock, when the last of the sun rays have disappeared behind the clouds on the horizon, leaving the city in darkness. Steve takes a look around, trying to find his friends. The rooftop of Clint's building is dimly lit, decorated with string lights fastened along the railings put in place to prevent falls, and some solar-powered lamps placed here and there. There’s an old couch in one corner, and some lawn chairs forming a seating area, where people have gathered, drinking and talking and laughing. 

Steve finally spots Natasha, standing next to the grill and talking to Clint. She sees him approaching and lights up, beckoning him over. “You want a beer?” she asks, bending down to grab one from the cooler near her feet. Steve nods and accepts the drink. 

“Oh, hey, man,” Clint says, looking up at Steve briefly. “I’m glad you came. You want some corn on the cob?” 

“Thanks for the invite,” Steve says, smiling politely as he hands over a long and narrow bag. “This is for you.”

“Captain Morgan! Aw, thanks, man.” Clint grins, his eyes glinting with excitement. He looks at the bottle for a moment before he hands it over to Natasha, asking her to pour him a drink , and turns his attention back to the food. 

Steve sips on his beer and takes another look around the rooftop. There’s more people than he thought there would be for something that was described as a “chill, low-key barbecue” to commemorate Clint's 39th birthday. The crowd is a strange mix of young and old people. There’s a gaggle of school aged children, gathered around the group’s eldest, watching her as she plays a video game on her handheld console, while their parents socialise with their neighbours; on the other side of the room there’s a group of retirees playing poker on a foldaway table. And there’s Bucky. 

Steve’s jaw drops slightly. He is the last person Steve expected to see here, but sure enough, there he is, leaning against the wall near the door, dressed in his usual black denims and combat boots, his sunglasses perched on his head, and a cigarette in his hand. He’s talking to someone who Steve doesn’t recognise, but whatever they’re talking about has Bucky laughing wholeheartedly, with his head thrown back, carefree. 

Steve watches him for a moment, almost mesmerised, then his feet spring into action, taking him towards Bucky, as if moving on their own accord. Bucky straightens up when he sees Steve, and the smile fades away, an expression of surprise taking over in its place.

“Hey,” Steve breathes. 

Bucky blinks at him. “Hey. I didn’t know you were coming to this,” he says. The man he was talking to takes the cigarette from Bucky’s hand, and Bucky turns to look at him, and belatedly realises the two men haven’t met each other before. “Uh, this is Steve - Steve, this is Luis, he’s one of the founders of X-Con Security.”

“Good to meet you, man,” Luis shakes Steve’s hand, his gaze flicking between the two of them, then says, “I’m gonna grab some more food, you guys want anything?” and he takes off before either of them has had a chance to answer, and Steve realises it’s just a pretense, leaving him and Bucky alone.

Steve takes a long swig of his beer in a valiant effort to drown the butterflies that have started stirring in his stomach. The silence between them stretches on for a moment too long, so he takes a deep breath and asks, “So, how have you been?”

Bucky nods slowly. “Not too bad. Sorry, I, uh, got wrapped up with a job... I haven’t had a lot of free time.”

“Oh, um,” Steve shakes his head slightly. “Don’t worry about it. Least you weren’t avoiding me on purpose.”

“Ah, man,” Bucky sighs and runs a hand over his face. “I am too caked for this.”

Steve squints his eyes lightly, the look on his face a mixture of amusement and curiosity. “You mean baked?”

“Yes,” Bucky blinks, and pauses for a beat. “Look, um... I’m sorry. I should have never...you know....”

Steve looks at him expectantly. 

“The kiss.” Bucky says eventually, his face twisted into a grimace, discomfort clearly evident in his expression. “That was a bad idea. I should have never put you in that position.”

“So you _have_ been avoiding me,” Steve says, and it feels like a weight has lifted off his shoulders, the tension in his muscles easing somewhat. 

“I thought I made things... awkward.”

Steve shrugs. “It’s fine.” He hopes it sounds convincing enough.

“You sure?” Bucky asks, regarding him carefully. 

“I think I did okay, what with it being my first undercover assignment and all.”

Bucky grins at him, bright and beautiful. “You did more than okay,” he says, and it sounds sincere to Steve’s ears, and he can’t help but return the smile.

“I gotta say, I thought that whole, undercover kiss thing was more of a TV trope.” 

“It happens more than you’d think. Especially effective when it’s two men, because, you know,” Bucky makes a vague sweeping gesture, then shrugs, and shoves his hands in his pockets. “But yeah. It happens.” He clears his throat, averting his gaze briefly. “Glad we can move past it.” 

Steve nods. It’s not what he wants, but it’s clearly what Bucky wants, and he doesn’t want to push it. He can handle a rejection, even if it stings. Natasha appears just then, bringing them two hot dogs on paper plates, and telling them to power up for the charades game they’re setting up. 

“Oh my God, thank you,” Bucky grabs both plates from her hands. “You’re my favourite person of the day. I’m starving. I don’t know what Luis gave me, but it went straight to my head.”

“Tsk,” Natasha clicks her tongue, crossing her arms. “Didn’t your mother teach you not to take drugs from strangers?”

Bucky mumbles something incomprehensible, given that he’s talking with his mouth full. He swallows and says, “Look, when someone gives you free drugs, you take them and you say thank you, because drugs are expensive.”

Steve presses his lips together, trying to suppress the laughter that’s bubbling inside him. 

“Aha,” Natasha watches as Bucky shoves the other half of the hot dog in his mouth, her mouth quirked upwards in amusement, then turns to Steve. “Come on, there’s more where that came from.” 

“Bring me more,” Bucky says around another mouthful. “Like, at least three more.”

“I’m not your waitress, Barnes.”

Steve chuckles as he follows her to the table, and helps himself to a burger. They sit down on a couple of footstools nearby and talk while they eat. 

“Did you know he was going to be here?” Steve asks the question that’s been lingering at the back of his mind.

Natasha shakes her head. “Clint invites him sometimes, but he doesn’t usually show up. Why do you ask?”

“No reason, I was just surprised,” Steve answers as honestly as he can. He doesn’t really want to share more than he has to. “Didn’t realise Clint even knew him.”

Natasha looks at him for a moment. “Clint worked with him. Once upon a time.” she says, choosing her words carefully. 

Steve nods and changes the subject. “Are we paired up for Charades?”

“Of course. We are going to crush them,” Natasha glances at the partygoers for a moment, before she turns on her seat and looks out to the city, placing her arms on the railing and resting her chin on her hands. “Unless you’ve got another partner in mind.” She says quietly.

“Are you kidding? We’re _unbeatable_ , Nat. Do _you_ want to be paired up with someone else?”

She smiles to herself. “No.”

The crowd starts thinning out as the night goes on, the youngest being the first to go a little after ten, as parents drag their offspring back to their homes after countless promises of ‘five more minutes’. After a while, even the poker table closes up shop and heads home, and the only people left are the group of childless thirty-somethings, happy to stay up till they’re exhausted, the last of their energy being preserved for the trip home. 

_Charades_ is the best part of the evening by far. Predictably, Steve and Natasha win, and it becomes even easier the longer the game goes on and their competitors become even more drunk, or high, or a combination of the two. At the end of the night, the pair have all but been shunned, and Clint has personally threatened to ban them from ever setting foot in his building. He’s been paired with Bucky, and the two of them really don’t know each other as well as Steve and Natasha do; they manage to win three rounds by sheer luck.

“Alright, that’s it, party over,” Clint declares, getting on his feet. “Everyone, fuck off,”

Steve laughs, watching from where he’s lazily lounging on a bean bag, as the remaining half dozen partygoers start dispersing, though the party doesn’t end there. Clint, Scott, and Luis huddle together near the food table, finishing off the last of the tapas the Juarez family two floors down had brought to the barbecue. The hot dogs and burgers have long run out, but there’s still plenty of beer. Natasha borrows Clint’s apartment key and heads downstairs to use his bathroom, and that leaves Bucky slumped on the ratty old couch across from him, smiling a happy, drunken smile at him. 

Steve smiles back at him, equally as happy and drunk. “You like what you see?”

Bucky snorts a laugh. “What?”

“I’m like, nationally ranked.” Steve gestures vaguely to the scoreboard, and this makes Bucky laugh even more. 

“Yeah, that’s what really does it for me. A guy who can _mime_.”

Steve laughs with him, and hangs his head backward for a moment, averting his gaze to the pitch black sky above them. Mere seconds later, a familiar face obstructs his view. 

“Boop,” Natasha says, tapping the tip of his nose lightly. “You ready to go?”

Steve sits up, and nods. “Gimme a hand,”

Natasha clasps his hand and pulls him up with a soft grunt. “Jesus, you’re heavy,” she says, and swats his arm as she walks past. Steve chuckles softly. He starts checking his pockets to make sure he’s got everything before he turns to follow his friend.

“Hey, Steve,” Bucky says then, getting to his feet. 

Steve looks at him expectantly. 

“I’ll, uh, give you a call tomorrow?” Bucky asks, sounding more nervous than usual. “Maybe we can meet up, see if we can find any new leads?”

Steve feels a flush creeping up his neck, and his mouth curves into an involuntary smile. “Yeah. Yeah, that sounds good, Buck,” he says, speaking softly. 

Bucky sighs, visibly relaxing. “Good. I’ll see you tomorrow, then. If you’re not too hungover.”

“Nah, I’ll be fine,” Steve takes a step forward, then hesitates and stops. He clears his throat and looks towards Natasha, who seems to be having one last drink, judging by the way she’s chugging her beer. Steve shakes his head and takes one final look at Bucky. “I’m gonna go get her,” he says, jerking his thumb in that direction. 

Bucky nods, and Steve hurries towards Natasha, who’s now saying goodbye to the group. Steve says his goodbyes as well, and they head towards the door and down the stairs onto the 20th floor, from where they take the elevator. Natasha links her arm around Steve’s and rests her head on his shoulder. 

“I’m calling an Uber,” she says as the decades-old elevator noisily travels downwards. “Too sleepy for the train.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“You’re okay with crashing at mine?”

“Yeah,” Steve yawns. They wait at the curb for their car to arrive, standing with their arms linked, leaning sleepily on each other. 

Natasha glances up at him and says, “Hey,” and waits until Steve meets her in the eye before she asks, “Do you like him? Barnes.”

Steve blinks, caught off guard by the question. “Yeah, he’s alright.”

Natasha is quiet for a moment, her eyes flitting between Steve’s, as if searching for what he’s not telling her. “Has he told you anything about…” she trails off, trying to find the words. “...what he used to do?”

“Not really, no. Why do you ask?”

Natasha breaks eye contact, once again leaning her head on Steve’s shoulder. “He saved my life.” She whispers. 

Steve sucks in a sharp breath. That was probably one of the last things he ever expected to hear. “Nat?” he asks, voice quivering. 

“The CIA saw us as a threat. They wanted us dead.” She speaks quietly, her voice barely audible over the sounds of the bustling city. “You know how I was recruited by the KGB, but I never really told you the whole story.”

“You don’t need to-”

“Just listen,” Natasha interrupts him. “We had been trained our entire lives. They brought us together when we were barely twelve years old, sometimes younger. We lived together, trained together. But we worked alone.”

Steve shifts slightly, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and bringing her closer to him, but he lets her speak without interrupting. 

“Some of us got caught, eventually. They’d sent out a team to eliminate us. I would have been killed, I know that for a fact.” Natasha pauses for a moment to breathe in shakily. She wipes her tears away with the back of her hand. “Clint - he was going to take me out. But Barnes stopped him. I don’t even know how he’d managed - but he’d found the files in an archive, buried somewhere in Stalingrad. The complete Black Widow files. He took them to the CIA, but they dismissed him. They’re not really big on second chances,” she half-smiles, bitterly. “Barnes found Clint, though, when he was following me around in Budapest-” she clears her throat. “He got Clint to sabotage his own mission. Me and another girl - he saved us both. The rest of the Black Widows weren’t so lucky.” 

Natasha stops, and draws in a deep breath. She pulls her phone out of her pocket when it vibrates with a new notification. “Our car is here,” she says, pulling away from Steve’s embrace and looking around for it. 

The car is parked opposite the street, a little further down the road. He flashes his lights twice in quick succession, and after checking the license plate number, Natasha starts crossing the street, Steve following her. The drive to her apartment takes less than fifteen minutes, and Natasha remains quiet throughout it, looking out the window as they drive through the busy streets of New York. Steve glances at her every once in a while to make sure she hasn’t fallen asleep. 

Once inside her apartment, Natasha kicks off her trainers and shrugs off her hoodie, tossing it carelessly over a chair. “Help yourself to whatever you want,” she says, making a vague sweeping gesture towards the kitchen. “I’m going to bed,”

“Nat, come here,” Steve grabs her by the arm, trying to be as gentle as he can, and slowly pulls her towards him and wraps his arms around her. “You’re okay.”

Natasha presses her face against his chest, her arms around Steve’s waist. “Thank you,” she says into his chest, voice muffled.

“What for?” Steve asks. He brings a hand up to her head, pushing her straight red hair away from her face. 

Natasha turns her head sideways but doesn’t meet his gaze. “I don’t know. For being my friend.”

“Are you kidding?” Steve smiles. “You’re the best friend anyone could ever ask for. I consider myself lucky you choose to be my friend.”

She laughs softly, and breaks away from his embrace. “You’re such a sap when you’re drunk,” she says, pressing her palms to her eyes to stop the tears from spilling. 

“Go get some sleep, Nat,”

Steve lays awake for a long time, eyes glued to the ceiling as he thinks about the new information. All things considered, he’s really fucking grateful for Bucky Barnes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> life is chaotic and so is the frequency of these updates and im sorry. if u want to come yell at me to update more often you know where to find me


	7. Chapter 7

Bucky pulls the heavy glass door and walks into the coffee shop, his eyes scanning the crowd quickly; he finds Steve sitting at the corner table at the far end, studying something on his laptop. He’s hunched forward, his eyebrows knitted together, eyes glued on his screen.  _ Goddamn, he looks good, _ Bucky thinks to himself, a small smile curving his mouth. He pushes his sunglasses up to his head as he makes his way through the cafe, and he comes to a halt at his table. 

“Hey,” he says, in his most flirtatious tone. “Can I buy you a drink?”

“No thanks,” Steve answers, glancing up at him quickly, then does a double take and lets out a soft breath when he sees it’s Bucky; his face lights up with that grin of his that makes Bucky weak at the knees. “Hey, Buck,”

“What’re you working on?” Bucky takes a quick sneak peek at the laptop and frowns. “Are you redecorating?”

Steve shakes his head, closing the IKEA webpage and shutting the lid of his laptop. “I  _ was  _ working on an article, but I got distracted. I’m actually moving. Nat showed me a condo just up the road. Thanks for meeting me here, by the way. You want a coffee or something?”

“If you’re buying,” Bucky pulls out a chair and sits down. “How come you’re moving?”

“Oh, you know…” Steve trails off. “Hang on, let me go order. What would you like?”

“Surprise me.”

Steve returns moments later with two large to-go cups and takes a seat next to Bucky. “Here’s your surprise.”

Bucky takes a sip which nearly burns his tongue. He winces and puts the cup down to let the drink cool down a little. “So, you said you were moving?”

“Ah, yeah…I don’t know, I wanted something a little less…” Steve lifts his shoulders and lets them drop with a long exhale. “I just never pictured myself in a top floor Manhattan apartment. I only moved in because I was being evicted and the inheritance just came at the right time.”

Bucky nods. “That must’ve been a lucky break.”

“Yeah, I guess so. It was about two years ago, when I left my job, and my landlord pretty much hated me,” Steve says. “Anyway, Nat found me a buyer, and we’ve pretty much finalized the sale, so I’m out of there by the end of the month. Besides, I like Brooklyn better.”

“Well, let me know if you need any help moving your things.”

“Thanks,” Steve smiles at him. “Luis actually offered to help, too. He said he’s got a van if I need it. I hadn’t even met him before the party.”

“Yeah, that’s Luis,” Bucky smiles fondly, and takes another sip of his drink. He hates to admit it, but it’s kind of delicious. “What’s in this?”

“Uh, coffee, milk, caramel syrup, I think?” Steve opens the lid of his cup and peers inside. “A bit of foam. Do you like it? I can get you something-”

“No, it’s good,” Bucky grabs his arm and pulls him back down just as Steve was getting to his feet. “I don’t usually care for these fancy coffee drinks.”

“Yeah, it’s sort of a bad habit. But I get more work done if I’m somewhere public.” Steve looks around the coffee shop. 

“So you’re that guy on his laptop in Starbucks.”

“Yeah,” Steve laughs softly. “I’m that guy.”

Bucky shakes his head. “Come on, let’s get out of here. We’ve got work to do.”

By work, of course, Bucky means sitting in a car waiting for people until they’re on the move, and then following them around the city and taking pictures. He’s taken on another missing persons case, and those are never fun. But apparently, Steve doesn’t mind tagging along even when he’s got nothing to offer. Bucky’s getting used to having him in his passenger seat, making a smartass remark or talking about random things. It makes the time go by faster. 

“Who are we tailing today?” Steve asks as they pull up to the curb of a nightclub. In the daytime, it serves as the meeting spot of the city’s shadiest individuals. 

“Someone called Ivan,” Bucky sighs, turning off the ignition.

“Ooh, Russian mob?”

Bucky scoffs. “No, nothing like that. He’s kind of shady, and he’s dating a girl much younger than him. Naturally, the girl’s mother doesn’t approve, so she packed her bags and moved out, and her mother thinks she’s in trouble, so she paid me to follow him around for a while and take pictures.”

“How much younger?”

“Uh, like eight years?” He reaches out to grab the file he’d put together. “Yeah, he’s 28, she’s 19. Bit iffy.”

Steve seems thoughtful. “You think she’s involved in whatever operation he’s got going on?” he asks. 

Bucky glances over at him, trying to fight back the smile that’s tugging at the corners of his mouth. It’s not like he’s going to act on his feelings, because he knows better than to get romantically involved with someone he’s working with, but he does have these feelings - he can’t help it. There’s something about the way Steve talks about the work Bucky does, that’s just downright adorable. 

“I don’t know,” Bucky says eventually, diverting his gaze towards the main entrance of the nightclub. “I have this theory about our case though, if you want to hear it.”

“Let’s hear it.”

“Okay, so I was thinking - it doesn’t make sense for there to be a money launderer in the mix, right?”

Steve perks up. “Oh! You were going to meet him, right? How did that go?”

“Ah,” Bucky rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “Dead end. Sorry.”

“Why? What happened?”

“It’s kind of hard to run a mission solo,” Bucky sighs. “I tried to approach him as a potential client, but he didn’t want to collaborate, and I didn’t really have a way of convincing him.”

“Anything I can do to help?” Steve asks, sounding hopeful.

Bucky glances at him briefly. “Not really, no. Sorry. But don’t worry about it, because I have another idea. So like I said - why would they need Lawrence at all? The companies involved in this are legit, the blackouts seem legit, so the money they’re making by raising prices is legit, right?”

Steve nods. 

“My guess is, if Olsen is behind everything, Lawrence works for him alone.” Bucky beams. “He must be running a different operation, and using the money from that to pay off the technicians and managers. Like that guy we followed last week? The one who was all nervous about meeting Lawrence’s errand boy.”

“Right,” Steve lets his head fall back. “That makes sense though. That’s why no one would even suspect them.”

“It’s just gonna be that much better when we expose them.”

“You really think we’ll be able to expose them?”

“‘Course,” Bucky tries to sound nonchalant. “I’m a pro, remember?”

Steve chuckles. “Of course. Speaking of, any idea how much this is gonna end up costing me?”

Bucky turns to look at him, raising an eyebrow at him. “Didn’t you buy a condo today, Mr. Millionaire?”

“I  _ looked _ at a condo.” Steve corrects him, raising his index finger in protest. “I wasn’t complaining - I just wondered. I’ve never hired a PI before.”

“Not even to spy on a cheating partner?”

“No - why? Should I have? Is there something I should know?” 

Bucky laughs. “Relax, I was joking. That’s just pretty much, like, 90% of my clientele. Angry spouses who should really be putting their money towards marriage counselling.”

“Yeah, right,” Steve scoffs. “Because counselling will magically fix everything.”

“So you  _ have _ been cheated on.” Bucky says, and laughs at the indignant gasp it elicits. Steve, in turn, punches him in the arm playfully, no real force behind it, and Bucky pretends to cower in fear. 

“Jackass.” Steve shakes his head. “To answer your question - not to my knowledge.”

“Sorry,” Bucky says, turning his head to look at Steve, but he doesn’t look sorry at all, not with that grin plastered on his face. “I made an assumption. That’s on me.”

“That’s what makes you an ass.” Steve smiles at him, but it’s his sarcastic smile. He looks away moments later, digging through his backpack for his notepad. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m gonna get some work done.”

Bucky spies on his target for a couple more hours, with Steve working on his own job of the week in the passenger seat. The conversation dies down and for a while they work in companionable silence, then one of them makes a joke or asks a question and it starts the conversation back up. Around five o’clock, Bucky decides to call it a day and drives them back to his apartment in Bed-Stuy. He invites Steve to stay for dinner and a few drinks on the condition that they don’t talk about work under any circumstances, and Steve agrees, extending his pinky finger to solidify his promise. 

Sometime between the fourth and fifth beer they drink while waiting for the pizza to be delivered, Steve tries his very best to casually bring up Natasha’s connection to Bucky by way of their complicated, morally ambiguous pasts, and Bucky makes a bold decision. 

“Twenty questions,” Bucky says, as he puts his bottle down on the coffee table and gets to his feet. He grabs the couch cushions and asks Steve to follow his lead. 

“Are we making a fort?”

Bucky giggles. “No, nothing like that. It’s better down here,” he says, sitting cross-legged on his cushion, facing Steve, who mirrors him. Bucky gets comfortable and grabs his drink. “Okay, you get twenty questions, I get twenty questions. Total honesty. We each get only three vetoes. Ready?”

“I’m…” Steve trails off. He takes a deep breath and exhales. “I think I’m scared.”

“It’s good, I promise. You can go first.”

“Okay,” Steve nods, his eyes locked with Bucky’s. “Why did you try to save them?”

“The Black Widows?” Bucky sighs. “God, you couldn’t have thrown me a softball?”

“Take your time,” Steve says, his mouth curving into a tiny lopsided smirk. 

Bucky closes his eyes and takes a breath. He’s already regretting this. “That whole programme was immoral. They kidnapped kids and brainwashed them into being their perfect little soldiers. It was fucked up,” he shrugs. “I guess I didn’t think they deserved to die.”

Steve is quiet, absorbing the words. He seems to be at a loss for words. 

Bucky moves on quickly. “My turn. Did you always know this is what you wanted to do in your life?”

“Huh,” Steve turns his gaze upwards. “Maybe not always. Not when I was like, eight. I think it was around the time I started to think about what I’m going to do after school…I didn’t have an epiphany, or anything, I just learned about it and I thought I’d enjoy it.”

“What did you want to be when you were eight?”

“I think...a fireman.”

Bucky leans backwards on his hands, a lazy smile on his face. “Always the hero.”

Steve huffs a breath. “You’re two down. Have you ever killed someone?”

Bucky’s smile fades away. He moves, hunching forward slightly, all the while holding Steve’s gaze. “I have. Does that bother you?”

“No,” Steve says, but the way his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows gives away his unease. “Have you played this game before?”

“It’s not a game - but, yes, I have.”

“Have you ever cheated?”

Bucky grins. “I have. You’re five down, fifteen to go, by the way.”

“Your turn.” Steve says.

“Why move back to Brooklyn? You could move anywhere you wanted. You could buy an entire citizenship with the money you’ll get from the sale.”

Steve shrugs. “I like it here.”

“Is that the whole truth?”

“Yeah, that’s the whole truth,” Steve picks up his bottle and takes a long swig. “You’ve traveled all over the world and you’ve ended up here.”

Bucky tilts his head to one side. “Was there a question there, or...?” he trails off. Steve shrugs again, and Bucky laughs. “You’re a little shit. Go on, ask me something dumb.”

Steve lets his head hang backwards for a moment while he thinks. “Favourite bagel topping?”

“Cream cheese.” Bucky answers quickly. “What’s your worst guilty pleasure?”

Steve rolls his eyes as a flash of heat warms his cheeks. “That’s such a cheap shot.”

“Tik tok, Rogers,”

“I don’t know. I like sleeping naked.”

Bucky guffaws. “That’s hardly a guilty pleasure when everyone who’s ever slept with you has witnessed you doing that.”

“Not everyone.” Steve says, and that signature smirk of his is back, a look of playful coyness in his eyes as he looks at Bucky, whose jaw has dropped open. 

“You’re such a shit, Steve,” Bucky shakes his head in disbelief. “Evading answering is one thing, but inviting even more questions? What are you, a shock-value driven crime show?”

“Is that another question?”

Bucky picks up the throw pillow that’s lying on the floor next to him and smacks Steve with it, with more force than he’d intended to because it knocks the drink out of Steve’s hand, and it spills all over the front of his t-shirt. Steve lets out a high pitched squeal and scrambles to his feet, Bucky following suit. 

“Oh, shit,” he gasps and breaks into a fit of giggles. “Fuck, I’m so sorry,”

Steve raises an eyebrow at him. “That’d be more believable if you weren’t laughing like a child.”

“Really,” Bucky’s laughter quiets down. “Come on, I’ll find you something clean to wear,” he says and grabs Steve’s hand, leading him to his wardrobe. He shifts through the drawers until he finds a t-shirt he doesn’t mind parting with, and he turns back around only to see that Steve has already gone and taken his shirt off and is now standing there, half naked. Bucky shifts, his feet moving on their own accord, taking him closer to Steve. “Here,” he whispers, handing his t-shirt over to Steve as he finally manages to tear his gaze away from his chest. 

When their eyes meet, something shifts, and in the blink of an eye they are on each other, lips locking together as they come closer, the gap between them vanishing. Bucky is perfectly aware that he’s doing something he should not be doing, but he finds it really hard to care when Steve’s hands are on his hips, pulling him forward. He’s holding onto Steve’s neck with both hands as they kiss, and it is so full of pent up lust and yearning, in the way they cling onto each other, mouths moving against one another’s hungrily. Bucky feels like he is being swallowed, as if Steve’s warmth is irradiating from the centre of a black hole, pulling him in. 

They break apart breathless, and the air around them almost cackles with the electric energy of the look they share. Bucky is at a loss for words. For the first time in his life, he holds back all the words that are threatening to spill out of his mouth; he doesn’t want to ruin the moment. The silence stretches between them, becoming tenser by each second the goes by. 

“I’m sorry,” Steve whispers eventually. “I...I don’t want-”

“Fuck,” Bucky breathes. He’s suddenly very aware of the fact that Steve is still shirtless, and his hands are on Steve’s bare shoulders. He’s also very aware of the growing interest in his pants. 

Steve sighs and leans in and kisses him again, and Bucky lets himself get lost in the moment; he’ll deal with the fallout tomorrow, or maybe never. Right now all he wants is to get Steve’s big, warm hands under his shirt and all over his body. 

Unfortunately, he doesn’t get the chance. There’s a loud knock on his front door, and the pair jump apart like teenagers that get caught hooking up in the back of a car. Bucky curses under his breath and goes to answer the door all the while swearing at the pizza delivery guy for having the worst timing ever. He swings the door open and blinks in surprise. The kid looks maybe thirteen years old at the most. 

“Hi Mr Barnes,” he says, and Bucky’s shoulders sag as he recognises him as his upstairs neighbour’s youngest child. 

“Brandon, what are you doing here?” Bucky asks, unable to hide his exasparation. 

“Are you a drug dealer, Mr Barnes?”

Bucky closes his eyes as he exhales. “What.”

“I need your help. Please.” Brandon shoves his savings jar full of crumpled one-dollar bills towards Bucky. “You need to help my sister.”

With a defeated sigh, Bucky invites him in, and closes his front door. “We’ve got a guest,” he calls out to Steve, who’s thankfully hidden behind the opened door of Bucky’s wardrobe. “First things first, I’m not a drug dealer.”

“Are you sure?” Brandon asks. “I know you have a gun, and you get paid in cash in one of those envelopes. And Mom always says you make the whole building stink of pot.”

“Jesus, that’s your  _ upstairs  _ neighbour,” Bucky shakes his head. “I’m still not a drug dealer, so you can have this back,” he says as he hands the money jar back to Brandon. “How old are you kid? Aren’t you a little young to be smoking pot?” 

Brandon takes a seat on the armchair, his eyes scanning the entirety of Bucky’s studio apartment, lingering briefly when they land on Steve who’s doing his best to remain inconspicuous. “I’m eleven and a half.”

Bucky’s eyes widen. “Definitely too young. Did your sister tell you to come ask me for drugs?”

“No, she’s in trouble, and you have to help her. She has no money and someone is calling her every day and they’re arguing and she needs to pay him back or he’s going to kill her.”

Bucky drops his head in his hands. “One night. I just wanted one night to myself.” He mumbles, his voice muffled.

Brandon takes another look around. “Did you guys drink all these beers?”

Bucky lets his arms drop by his sides and looks across the room, meeting Steve’s gaze. Steve mouths  _ “Oh my God, what do we say?”  _ while gesturing towards Brandon, and it makes Bucky laugh.

“I’ll be right back,” he tells Steve, then grabs his keys, asking Brandon to follow him.

Bucky has every intention to drop the kid off at his front door and go back to his unfinished business with Steve, but when Brandon’s older sister, Hayley, opens the door looking scared and distraught, a dark purple bruise under her right eye, he knows he was never going to turn his back on them. Hayley tells him that she owes money to her supplier, because she had been mugged two weeks ago and her backpack containing two grand worth of product had been stolen from her, with tears streaming down her cheeks. 

“My mom cannot find out about this, please,” she begs him. “This is why I never tell you anything, Brandon! I can’t believe you did this, you’re such a-”

“Alright, enough,” Bucky raises his voice slightly, interrupting the insult she was ready to hurl at her younger brother. “Listen to me. I’ll take care of this for you, okay? But you gotta cut this crap out. Go to school, listen to your teachers, whatever, I don’t know - no more selling pot to your friends though, okay?”

Hayley looks at him for a moment before she nods. “I’m done, I swear. I don’t want to-” she stops and looks down, drawing in a shaky breath. “I swear.”

“I mean it,” Bucky says, keeping his tone level. “You’re not a criminal mastermind, which means the cops will find out about your little business sooner or later, and that’s it. You’re fucked for the rest of your life.”

Brandon watches him as he speaks, then looks to his sister. “I told you he’s cool.”

Bucky bites back a smile. “Kid, go play your video games, or something. Go on, go to your room.”

“You’re not my dad.” Brandon protests. 

“Go to your room and I’ll bring you ice cream tomorrow. Promise.” Bucky crosses his heart for show, and Brandon rolls his eyes but obeys him, so he considers it a win. Then he turns to Hayley and says, “Call your guy, have him meet you outside in half an hour. Sit tight. I’ll be right back.” 

Back at his apartment, he finds Steve lying lazily on his too small couch, browsing on his phone; dressed in Bucky’s worn t-shirt and with his shoes kicked off, he looks right at home. The empty bottles have been cleared away, and the freshly baked pizza is sitting in the middle of the coffee table. Bucky’s stomach grumbles at the sight. He must be hungrier than he realised. 

Bucky relays the details of his latest assignment as they eat, catching Steve up on his neighbour’s shenanigans. Unsurprisingly, Steve volunteers to help. Bucky’s heart flutters in his chest. Why does he have to be so goddamn...good-hearted and _kind_ , especially when he looks like a dudebro gym rat on the outside?

“It’s alright,” Bucky says. “I’ve got it covered.”

Steve shakes his head. “I can withdraw the money tomorrow. I insist.”

“God, I hate you,”

Steve’s head whips towards him. “Pardon me?”

Bucky shakes his head. “You heard me. You’re like a walking charity.” He says, and smiles when it makes Steve laugh. 

“You’re one to talk.” Steve says, knocking his knee against Bucky’s. He puts his plate away and leans backwards onto the couch. “You want me to come with you? When you go meet the guy?”

“I mean, aren’t you going to anyway, even if I say no?”

Steve shrugs. “I can be obedient. When I want to.”

Bucky closes his eyes and counts to ten in his head. He opts to not respond, and grabs another slice of pizza instead. He hopes whoever he’s supposed to meet isn’t much of a fighter, because he’s still a little tipsy and the way he’s devouring the food on his plate doesn’t exactly bode well for him. With that thought, he puts his plate away and gets to his feet. He goes to his safe where he keeps his gun and some rainy day money he’d stashed away, and gears up for his meeting. 

Steve, as expected, tags along and follows him up to apartment 2B to check in on the kids who have been left alone in their house by their mother. Bucky tries his best to be reassuring. He tells Hayley he will give the guy the money she owes him, and tell him to never contact her again. Once again he asks her to block and delete his number on her phone. 

Hayley hesitates but obliges. “I don't know how I’m going to pay you back. I already gave Luke all my savings.”

“How much do you owe him now?”

“Twelve hundred.” Hayley flops down on the couch with a sigh but jumps up almost instantly when the buzzer goes off for a full minute. “Oh God, that’s him. God, he’s such an obnoxious dickhead.”

“Relax, take a deep breath,” Bucky counts the money in his envelope and gives the rest to Steve for safekeeping. “Go keep an eye on your brother. We’ll be right back.”

The obnoxious dickhead in question is waiting for them at the curb outside their building, looking predictability pissed off but overall nonthreatening. He’s a skinny guy in his early twenties who presumably relies on the firearm tucked in the front of his jeans to intimidate people. 

“Are you Luke?” Bucky asks as he walks down the stairs. 

Luke straightens up, as if trying to make himself look bigger. “Who the fuck are you?”

“Oh, just your friendly neighbourhood Spiderman,” Bucky flashes him a smile as he pulls the cash from his pocket. “I’ve got your money.” 

Luke makes a grab for it, but Bucky steps backwards. He clicks his tongue while shaking his head. “Now, Luke, this comes with a very strict condition. You take this, go pay off your boss, and you never come back here again. Understood?”

Predictably, Luke draws his gun and points it at Bucky’s head. “Oh yeah? What’re you gonna do?” he cocks his gun, smirking.

Bucky sighs. “I hate it when this happens,” he mutters and, moving swiftly, he grabs the man’s arm and twists it around his back, using more force than strictly necessary, if the way the kid cries out in pain is any indication. “Drop it.” 

The gun falls to the ground. “Get off me, you fucking asshole,” Luke spits out, trying to free himself by swinging his arm up to hit back at Bucky.

Bucky blocks the attack easily and grabs a hold of the arm, holding it behind his back. He kicks the firearm out of their reach, then kicks the back of Luke’s knees, making him fall to the ground. He twists his arm again, just to drive the point home. “If you ever show your face around here again-”

“Okay, okay, let me go,”

As soon as he’s free, Luke grabs the cash from Bucky’s hand and gets in his car, muttering obscenities under his breath until he drives off. Bucky picks up the gun he’d left behind in his rush to get out of there and unloads it, then looks up at Steve who had been watching them from his spot at the top of the stairs. “Free gun,” he smiles cheerily. 

Steve’s eyebrows shoot up. “You’re gonna keep that?” he asks. 

“Nah, I’ll get rid of it tomorrow.” He fishes his keys out of his back pocket and starts making his way down the stairs that lead to his apartment. 

Once the firearms and what’s left of his rainy day funds are back in his safe, Bucky makes his way back up to apartment 2B. Brandon is the one who opens the door, vibrating with excitement. 

“That was  _ awesome, _ Mr Barnes!”

Bucky sighs. “Didn’t I tell you to stay in your room? That was for your safety, you know?”

“We saw the whole thing from the window,” Hayley shrugs. She looks calmer now, her relief evident in the way she holds herself. “Thank you. Again. I’ll pay you back, I promise.”

“Don’t worry about it. Just - behave, okay? Listen to your mother. Incidentally, where  _ is _ your mother?” 

“She’s out with her friends, like always,” Brandon says. “Can you teach me how to shoot a gun?”

“No. I’m gonna bring you that ice cream I promised if you promise to never talk about this, okay? Don’t tell your mom, don’t tell your friends, just - zip it.” 

“I promise,” Brandon nods enthusiastically. “Where did you learn-”

“Nuh uh,” Bucky shoots him a look. “What did I  _ just _ say?”

“Brandon, shut  _ up _ ,” Hayley grabs her brother’s arm and pulls him by her side. “Just say thank you.”

“Thank you, Mr. Barnes.”

Bucky shakes his head. He says goodnight, tells them not to bother him again, and turns to leave. He’d been tempted to send them both to bed, but decided against it. He’s not about to become a reluctant father figure. 

Back inside his apartment, Bucky kicks off his shoes and shuts the door behind him. Steve is sitting on the floor with his legs crossed, and he smiles when he sees Bucky. “All good?” he asks.

“All good,” Bucky sighs. He takes the bottle Steve offers him and takes a seat on the cushion positioned opposite him, mirroring his stance. He takes a long sip from his bottle, keeping his eyes locked on Steve’s as he does. 

“Where were we?” Steve asks, voice soft. 

Bucky puts the bottle down. “I don’t remember.”

“What’s your mom’s name?” Steve asks, and the game resumes as if nothing had happened between them. 

“Winifred.” Bucky says with a sigh. He feels the exhaustion creep up his spine and settle in his shoulders as the day’s events catch up with him. He can’t think of what to ask Steve. “Why are you still here?” 

The question slips from his lips before he can think twice about it, and it startles Steve, his eyes widening slightly. “Is that part of it or-”

“Yeah,” Bucky shrugs. 

Steve seems thoughtful for a moment. “Veto.”

“Coward.”

“Ouch.”

Bucky shakes his head, smiling. “Your turn.”

Steve glances around the apartment while he thinks of what to ask. His eyes land on his t-shirt, draped over one of the kitchen chairs, left there to dry. He looks back at Bucky. “Do you want me here?”

_ Fuck it. _ “I do.”

Steve’s face lights up with a smile he can barely keep contained. “Did you wish I wasn’t here to witness your friendly neighbourhood Spiderman bit?”

Bucky curses under his breath. “Why did I think it was a good idea to do this with a goddamn journalist?” he asks, talking to himself out loud, as he shifts and sits with his back against the couch for support. 

“Well?” Steve insists. 

“Veto.”

Steve hums, somewhat theatrically. He moves to sit next to Bucky, letting his legs spread out in front of him. “You know, by not answering the question, you are kind of answering it.”

“Do you have to be an asshole all of the time?” Bucky asks. 

“Veto.” Steve says, and they laugh together. 

Bucky lets his head fall backwards onto the couch, grabbing his only throw pillow to make himself comfortable. “Why do I get the impression that you’re actually dying to interview me?”

“I kind of am,” Steve says with a shrug. “Is that bad?”

Bucky turns his head slightly to look at him. “Seriously?”

“Yeah,” Steve clears his throat, turning his gaze on the bottle in his hands as he fiddles with the label, tearing it off slowly. “I think it’d be a pretty good story. I mean, you could remain anonymous if you wanted, but - yeah. I’m curious about what sort of work you used to do. I think people would read that.”

It dawns on him then that Steve has thought about this. Bucky shifts, sitting up, suddenly unable to get comfortable; his stomach is tied in knots, and his mouth is too dry. “Shit, Steve,” he breathes. He reaches out for his abandoned drink and finishes it off, the sensation of the cool liquid at the back of his throat bringing some relief. 

“Sorry,” Steve doesn’t look at him. “I know you probably can’t talk about any of it, so I never asked.”

“I know,” Bucky whispers, trying to find the words to express how he feels, but coming up empty. “I know.”

Perhaps it’s the liquid courage, or the leftover adrenaline from staring down the barrel of a gun, but something snaps and Bucky reaches for Steve with unsteady hands. Steve turns his head and looks at him only for a moment before Bucky leans in, closing the gap between them. It only takes Steve mere seconds before he catches on and he reaches for Bucky as they kiss, his arms wrapping themselves around Bucky’s middle as he settles in on Steve’s lap. 

Steve breaks the kiss for a moment, breathlessly asking, “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

Bucky’s heart is racing in his chest. His eyes flicker from Steve’s mouth, bright red and inviting, to his eyes, the blue irises barely visible behind his pupils, blown wide open. “I don’t care,” he whispers before diving in to kiss him again. 

The rest of the night is a blur. By morning time, all he can really recall is flashes, moments captured in his mind’s eye; Steve’s hands pulling his shirt over his head, Steve’s mouth on his chest, kissing his way down; he remembers the way he’d gasped when Steve had picked him up and carried him over to his bed, where they’d fallen, tangled together. He’d banged his head on his headboard and Steve had laughed and kissed him as he’d apologised. Bucky had flipped them around and continued undressing Steve, pulling his pants and his underwear off before climbing all over him, and the overwhelming feeling of their bare bodies pressing together head to toe. They’d kissed and kissed and kissed until they were breathless, and made each other come again and again and again until they were utterly spent and exhausted, and they’d fallen asleep wrapped up in each other. 

In the morning, when Bucky’s alarm goes off at the crack of dawn, he groans and rolls over to turn it off, and accidentally knocks it off his dresser. The loud clatter wakes Steve up, who murmurs something that almost sounds like  _ ‘Good morning’ _ and snuggles closer to Bucky, tucking his head in the crook of his neck.

Bucky closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He is so, so fucked. 


	8. Chapter 8

Steve stands in the middle of his new living room with his hands on his hips, taking stock of the dozens of cardboard boxes left to unpack. He checks his phone and sees it’s well past midnight, and he really is too tired to do anything more today. Thankfully, his bedroom is all set. 

Luis had shown up a little after noon, bringing along his friends, Scott and Kurt, to help Steve move his things in exchange for pizza and beer. The van wasn’t nearly big enough to fit everything, so it took a couple of trips, but at least they managed to move most of his possessions. They sat on the floor and ate right out of the takeout box, then they played card games for a couple of hours until the guys decided to call it a night. Steve had managed to sneak a cheque in Luis’ wallet right before he’d left. It didn’t quite feel right to accept an entire day’s worth of labour from people he barely knew and not give anything back. In the notes he’d written ‘for X-Con Security’ and he figured they could accept the payment if it was going to help fund their startup company. 

Steve heads to his bedroom, where he’s managed to assemble his bed, but completely forgotten about bedding, or pillows. He groans and seriously considers going back to his old flat to crash in the guest room, which he’d left intact. He could also invite himself over to Bucky’s, Steve thinks to himself, then pulls his phone out to send him a text. He types out the message, then reads it over once before he hits send. The message simply reads:  _ “moving sucks :(“ _

Steve busies himself, looking for his toothbrush and toothpaste in the overnight bag he’d packed while he waits for a response. Bucky doesn’t respond until after Steve has rifled through a couple of boxes, found everything he needed to make his bed, taken a shower to wash off the day’s sweat and filth, and climbed into bed, nestling in comfortably. 

_ “You moved already? Whereabouts?” _

Steve sends a pin with his location, and follows it up with,  _ “I’m in bed. The rest of the place is a mess. I’m gonna be unpacking all day tomorrow.” _

He’s minutes away from sleep when his phone buzzes with the arrival of a new message from Bucky asking,  _ “what are you wearing” _ and Steve can’t help but laugh. He types out  _ “nothing”  _ in response, hits send, and puts his phone under his pillow before he drifts off to sleep. 

He doesn’t see Bucky’s reply until the next day, when he wakes up to his usual alarm clock, a soft melody playing from his phone’s speakers and gradually increasing in volume, until Steve reaches out and hits the mute button. He blinks awake and it takes him a moment as he takes in the unfamiliar surroundings and recalls that he’s waking up in his new house. He grabs his phone and reads the message that had arrived at 01:04, two simple words:  _ “that’s hot” _

Steve gets to his feet and goes to retrieve a clean set of clothes from his duffel bag, then grabs his phone and his keys and heads out. While he’s standing in the queue at the Starbucks down the road from him, his phone buzzes in his pocket. Steve takes a look at the caller ID and smiles, unable to help himself. 

“‘Morning,” he says cheerily. “Sleep well?”

Bucky grunts in response. “I’m bringing you coffee. What’s your door number?”

“I’m actually about to place my coffee order, but thank you.”

“Hang on,” Bucky says. “Where are you?”

“Starbucks.”

“On Montague street?”

“Yeah,”

Steve hears him sigh, and the call ends. He looks at his phone, wondering if he’d accidentally hang up on Bucky, then someone taps on his shoulder and Steve looks up to see Bucky standing there in front of him, looking vaguely annoyed. 

“I hate how early you wake up.” Bucky says, taking off his sunglasses and letting them hang from the ‘V’ of his dark grey t-shirt.

Steve’s heart is doing somersaults in his chest. “Did you really come all the way here to bring me coffee?” he asks, a slow grin spreading across his face. 

“Shut up and get me a latte.”

Steve orders their drinks, along with enough pastries to get him through lunch, because he intends to get most of the unpacking done by the end of the day so he can start enjoying his new home. The barista puts their entire order in a helpful to-go bag and they head out, walking up the road to Steve’s place. 

“Don’t expect anything too impressive,” Steve says as he unlocks the front door. “It’s still a mess.”

Bucky scoffs. “You’ve seen my place, right?”

The house is built over two floors, three if you count the attic, which is really too small to be used as anything else other than storage. The front door opens to the staircase which leads up to the second floor, where there’s the master bedroom with the en-suite bathroom, and two other rooms which Steve intends to use as the guest bedroom, and a home office. 

On the ground level, as you come inside, you can see the living room full of cardboard boxes stacked upon each other; the hallway leads to the kitchen and dining room, and more boxes left to be unpacked. He’d brought along most of the appliances from his old place, except for the electric cooker and oven that were too much hassle to move. He’d already ordered a new one, and someone was supposed to come and install it in the next few days. Till then, he figured he could live off microwave meals and sandwiches. 

Bucky remains quiet throughout the tour, and Steve finds himself rambling, sharing unnecessary information that no one really had asked for. He wonders if Bucky is even listening to half of it. 

Eventually, they come out to the garden in the back. Bucky takes one look at the swing set the previous owners had left behind, and a small, cryptic smile appears on his face. “You’ve bought a family home.”

Steve lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “I don’t know about that. Might get a dog, though.”

Bucky’s smile grows wider. “You should. But get one of those really small, cute ones. Like a chihuahua, or whatever, I don’t know what they’re called.”

“Nah, they’re too yappy,” Steve says as they walk back into the house. He slides the glass door shut and follows Bucky to the living room, where he flops down on the couch. “Making yourself at home, I see.”

Bucky grins as he kicks off his shoes and stretches out on the couch. “Time for a nap.”

“No, time for work. If you wanna nap, I’d suggest you go do that on your own couch.”

“Nah. It’s not as comfy as this one.”

Steve leaves him to it and gets to work, deciding to start with the kitchen. He starts with finding a place for the microwave oven, and the toaster, the kettle, and the coffee maker, then starts unpacking the boxes labeled ‘kitchen stuff’ and puts away his mismatched dinnerware and cutlery. The noise he makes as he works through the room is apparently too loud, because Bucky walks in grumbling about it and announcing that he’s going to take off. 

“I’ll come back when you’re done with all this,” he says, gesturing vaguely around the room. 

“You’re a good friend,” Steve tells him sarcastically. 

Bucky huffs and takes off, letting himself out. 

Steve spends the next three days unpacking and putting things away, assembling furniture, receiving various orders he’d placed for new furniture to fill his home with, and trying his best to decorate. He hadn’t really thought about buying any home decor when he’d been online shopping, and his brand new KALLAX unit looks rather plain, housing in half of its cubicles Steve’s moderate collection of books and some DVDs he’d got as gifts years ago and he didn’t want to get rid of them. 

On Sunday, he’s able to take a step back and look at his finished work and be happy with what he’s got. Steve drinks his freshly brewed coffee he’d made with his brand new coffee machine, in his brand new kitchen, and walks through the house one final time, making mental notes of things he wants to pick up in IKEA. Natasha is due to pick him up any minute now, volunteering to help Steve with the decorative aspect of his move into a new house, and to drive him in her massive car that could, in her own words, “comfortably fit two adults once you fold down the backseat.” Half an hour later, Steve starts to suspect she might have forgotten about their rendezvous, because she is the only person he ever trusts to show up on time in New York City.

Natasha answers the phone with a grunt. 

Steve’s face breaks into a grin. “Rise and shine,” he says brightly. “Did you forget about IKEA?”

“Shit,” Natasha mumbles the word. “It’s not gonna happen.”

“Did you have a good night?”

Natasha grunts again. “I’m so hungover. I need to sleep for fifteen hours.” She says, and hangs up. Steve looks at his phone screen and laughs to himself. He thinks about calling her again, just to annoy her, but decides against it. Instead, he pulls up Bucky’s number and hits the call button. 

Bucky is awake, much to his surprise, given that it’s 9AM on a Sunday, and he sounds considerably better on the phone. 

“Are you up for a trip to IKEA with me?” Steve asks, trying his best to sound casual.

“Sounds like fun, but I can’t. I’m going to the farmer’s market,” Bucky says. “You’re welcome to join me.”

“Sure, why not,” Steve shrugs. “I’ve just run out of kale, as luck would have it.”

“I just want you to know, I can tell you’re making fun, and I don’t appreciate it.” Bucky scolds him playfully, and Steve can’t help but laugh.

They hang up, and Bucky texts him the address of the farmer’s market, and Steve grabs his things and heads out. He’s excited to see Bucky again and spend some time with him, and he feels a bit foolish for it. They never really communicated any words about the nature of their relationship, and if it’s any different than what they had before - which was a weird mixture of professional and platonic, like getting paired up with your work friend to complete a project. That they were attracted to each other, yes, that much was obvious; there’s no undercover assignment pretense that could explain away just how intimate they had been with each other only a few days ago. 

Between that night and this morning, Steve had been busy with the move, and Bucky had been busy with his job, so their interactions had been minimal, and mainly in digital form. Steve feels the butterflies fluttering around in his gut as he walks out of the subway station and heads down the street, following the directions on the maps on his phone. As he’s approaching, he sees Bucky standing near a bike rack next to the market, sipping on his coffee and watching the people passing by, undoubtedly waiting for Steve. He’s dressed in a light denim jacket worn over a dark blue t-shirt, paired with dark grey sweatpants and black sneakers, his signature Ray-Bans shading his eyes from the sunlight. When he sees Steve approaching he perks up, a slow smile curving his mouth. 

Steve tries very, very hard to restrain himself from just grabbing him and kissing him right there. He imagines the taste of coffee on Bucky’s lips and it drives him crazy. 

“Ready?” Bucky asks, nodding his head towards the market’s main entrance, and heads off, Steve following suit. 

“This is what you wake up early for?” Steve asks, half curious and half teasing. 

“It’s worth it, trust me,” Bucky says as they start walking past the stalls.

There’s rows and rows of sellers, standing behind the tables that showcase the best they have to offer; seasonal fruit and vegetables, homemade jams and marmalades, various cheeses and deli meats, prepared in different ways, handmade artisanal loaves of bread, and best of all, the made-to-order sandwiches at the corner kiosk. The market is bursting with life, people bustling in and out, some doing a whole week’s worth of shop as they go from stall to stall. Steve observes the traders, and the products, but mainly, he watches Bucky as he walks around, casually assessing the day’s goods. 

“Find anything you like?” Steve asks after a short period of silence when neither had spoken.

“Definitely,” says Bucky, beaming. He approaches one stall and looks at the prepared meats and sausages while he waits for the customer before him to complete the transaction. Then, he turns to the shop owner, and speaks in a language Steve cannot even recognise, much less understand. The seller’s demeanor changes, his whole face brightening, and he responds to Bucky in his native tongue. Steve watches Bucky as he points to a block of cured meat, and exchanges some of his cash for two-hundred grams of it. He thanks the seller and they turn to leave. 

“Have you ever tried this?” Bucky says, dipping into his paper bag to retrieve a slice. “It’s really good,” he says, offering it to Steve. 

Steve shrugs and takes the sample. “What is it?” he asks, before he pops the whole thing in his mouth in one go. 

“Basturma. It’s cured beef.” Bucky has turned his attention to the next stall he wants to visit. “You like it?”

The flavours of the meat are vaguely overwhelming. It tastes of something salty, spicy, and savoury all at once; it’s surprisingly delicious. “What language were you speaking with that guy?” Steve asks when his mouth is free to speak again. 

“Turkish,” Bucky smiles at him coyly. “It always helps when you can speak to someone in their native language. That’s how you get the best deals.”

“Oh, okay,” Steve nods. “That’s why you asked me here. To flex.”

Bucky laughs, throwing his head back. “Not my intention at all,” he says, grinning. “I just wanted to share some good food with you.”

Steve knocks his shoulder against Bucky’s and they keep walking. Bucky stops by a fresh produce stall run by a man in his mid-fifties, who greets Bucky by his name, though spoken in Russian. Bucky buys mushrooms and shallots and a bunch of fresh basil, as he says something about making pasta - one of the few words Steve manages to understand in the entirety of their conversation. He’s only picked up some words here and there from Natasha, and some others just sound vaguely familiar, and he’s able to guess their meaning. 

“That guy’s mom makes the best dumplings I’ve ever had,” Bucky says to him in a quieter voice as they walk away, turning a corner onto the next aisle. “They’ve got a little restaurant a few blocks from here, a Georgian takeout place. Oh, and this cheesy pancake thing they do - it’s to die for.”

“So you’re fluent in Russian, too?”

Bucky huffs a laugh. “That’s like a minimum requirement for the job.”

“I wouldn’t know.” Steve comments, tone dry. 

They continue walking, occasionally stopping to shop as they make casual conversation with the vendors. Steve finds a good deal on avocados and picks up four of them, and a punnet of organic strawberries that are too irresistible to pass on. By the end of their trip, they are back at the point where they first met, each with two tote bags full of food and drinks. 

Bucky makes one final stop at a small shop, located conveniently between the market and his apartment, and buys four bottles of a dark ale imported from a microbrewery in northern England. 

“You’re going all out today, huh?” Steve teases him as they leave the shop. 

“Oh, don’t worry,” Bucky loops his arm through Steve’s as they cross the street. “This is all coming out of your expenses bill.”

Steve laughs. “You’re such a smartass, you know that?”

“I try my best,” Bucky says, shooting him a small grin. 

They make dinner while listening to Bucky’s ‘oldies but goldies’ playlist, and eat on the little patio just outside the apartment, a twenty-square-foot patch of concrete with an old, cheap white table and matching chairs balanced on a piece of plywood. It’s a warm day, but under the shade from the trees growing along the sidewalk, and with the cold drinks accompanying their meal, it’s a pleasant, welcome warmth; like the warmth that pools in his belly when Bucky looks at him with that curious, sly grin playing on his lips, and reaches out and runs his finger over the back of Steve’s hand, resting on the table. Steve gets a little lightheaded, all his senses zeroed in on that miniscule point of contact where Bucky’s index finger touches his bare skin. 

Bucky is telling him a story from his childhood, and how he and his sister had sneaked out of the house in the middle of the night to go to the 24-hour McDonald’s in Times Square, even though there was one just a few blocks away from their childhood home. Steve watches him while he listens with a smile, his gaze flickering between Bucky’s eyes to his irresistibly pouty, pink mouth, and honestly, he’s finding it really hard to stop himself from leaning over and pressing his mouth to Bucky’s. He gets a little distracted because his mind gets ahead of him, and he starts imagining what it would be like, and really, would it be the worst thing if he just -

“Can I kiss you?” he asks breathily when Bucky has stopped talking for a full minute. 

The question catches him off guard. Bucky leans back on his chair, letting out a long sigh. “As if I could say no,” he whispers, almost to himself.

Steve’s heart starts racing in his chest, the nerves twisting his stomach in knots. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. He fucked up. “You can say no,” he says quickly and he reaches for his drink, both for the pretense of busying himself as he tries to think of what to say next, and to relieve his dry mouth. He takes a long swig and puts the bottle down, his eyes glued to it. 

“Yeah, but I don’t want to,” Bucky says then, and he leans in close, bringing his hand up to Steve’s face to cup his cheek, turning his head towards him and planting a kiss on his lips. 

Steve, of course, doesn’t hesitate to reciprocate. He moves closer, tilting his head slightly so their lips can slot together; he can taste the bitterness of the ale on Bucky’s lips, and the faint flavours of the meal they’ve shared lingering on his tongue. He can’t get enough. 

They break apart when they hear someone wolf-whistling as they walk past on the street above them, and Bucky smiles against his mouth. “Let’s go inside,”

They bring the plates and empty bottles back to the apartment, and leave them on the kitchen counter next to the sink, and then they’re reaching for each other once again, meeting in the middle as their mouths crash together. Steve wants to touch him all over; his hands slip under the soft fabric of Bucky’s t-shirt, traveling upwards until they need to separate, Bucky lifting his arms over his head to allow Steve to remove the clothing. They come together again, kissing hungrily. Steve loops his arm around Bucky’s middle, pulling him closer, while his other hand rests on his neck. On impulse, he reaches up and pulls Bucky’s ponytail loose, and threads his fingers through his shirt soft, wavy locks. 

Bucky moans at the touch. He puts his hands on Steve’s hips and guides him through his apartment until they reach his bed; with a playful shove, Steve falls backwards on the bed, gasping. Bucky smiles, catching his bottom lip between his teeth, and starts to climb over him. 

“Hi,” he murmurs, and kisses him softly. 

Steve’s heart skips a beat. “Hi,” he replies.

Bucky kisses him again, slow and leisurely. He pulls back, sitting up and straddling Steve’s waist with his thighs, and pulls him up with him, his hands reaching out to unbutton Steve’s shirt before he pushes it off his shoulders. The minute Steve’s chest is exposed, Bucky puts his mouth on it, kissing his way down Steve’s torso, all the way to the happy trail that disappears under the waistband of his boxer briefs. He smiles as he looks up at Steve, peering at him through his eyelashes. 

Steve swears under his breath, letting his head fall back onto the mattress and closing his eyes for a moment. When he opens them again, he sees Bucky’s face hovering mere inches above his own, and before he can say anything, Bucky bends down and kisses him again, and it’s just as hypnotic every time. Balancing himself on one arm, Bucky reaches down and tries to unbuckle Steve’s belt and unzip his jeans. Working together, they get rid of the rest of their clothing, and then they're naked, their bare bodies pressed together while they continue kissing. They take their time, familiarising with one another, with eager hands reaching out, softly caressing, teasing, exploring. 

When Bucky finally takes him in his mouth, Steve’s breath catches in his throat. He can’t help but watch the way Bucky works his magic on him, his hands tangled in Bucky’s long hair, keeping it away from his face. 

“Oh God,” Steve breathes out. “Buck, come here,” 

Bucky pulls away with a quizzical expression, and Steve reaches out grabs him by his shoulders, pulling him closer to kiss his mouth, red and swollen and gleaming with spit. Holding him close, Steve rolls them around so he comes out on top, pinning Bucky underneath him. They kiss again, slowly moving against each other, chasing the friction that brings them wave after wave of pleasure, until Bucky hooks a leg over Steve’s hips and takes them both in his hand. The move draws out a long moan from Steve’s lips, and Bucky smiles against his mouth and kisses him again, his hand on the back of Steve’s neck, holding him close. Steve tries to balance himself on one arm, sliding it under Bucky’s shoulder and reaches out to touch him, replacing Bucky’s hand with his own, and gets to work, stroking him slowly. Bucky swears under his breath, arching his back and letting his head fall back, exposing his throat to Steve who doesn’t miss the opportunity to plant a kiss there, knowing how much it turns Bucky on. 

Steve stops and pulls away, rolling over to find the bottle of lube Bucky keeps in his nightstand, but Bucky reaches out and grabs it from his hands. “See if you can find a condom?” 

“Yeah?”

Bucky nods. “If you want.”

Steve climbs over him again, balancing himself with his hands planted on the mattress on either side of Bucky, and dips his head down to kiss him. “Fuck, yes.” He murmurs against Bucky’s lips. 

Bucky giggles softly, framing Steve’s face between his hands and kissing him again. Then he lays back, and lets Steve go down on him, slowly work him open, taking his time to savour the moment, relishing in the way Bucky writhes under his touch and the soft little moans that fall from his mouth. 

“Oh my God,” Bucky gasps when Steve slides in, a little at a time. 

Steve pushes in a little more. He reaches out to push Bucky’s hair out of his face, and cups his cheek before he kisses him. “You okay?”

Bucky nods and holds on to him. “I’m good - just - oh,  _ fuck,”  _

Steve draws in a shaky breath. God, he’s really not going to last. He starts rocking his hips gently, in slow, rhythmic movements, and with each move sinks in even deeper until he bottoms out and falls forward, letting his head rest on Bucky’s shoulder. 

Bucky turns his head, his lips grazing Steve’s temple. “Steve?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. 

In response, Steve rocks his hips again, and smiles at the way Bucky moans. He lifts his head and meets his eye, and starts moving. Bucky reaches up and brings him close for a kiss, moaning into it. His hands move from Steve’s neck to his shoulders, sliding down his back until he’s reached all the way down Steve’s ass. He grabs each cheek and holds on as Steve fucks into him, gradually picking up his rhythm. Steve gets lost in the heat of it; the way their sweat-slicked bodies rock against each other, the way Bucky whimpers when he hits the spot just right, the hungry, messy kisses they exchange. He feels himself getting closer and closer, and he wants to hold off, wants to make it last. But the way Bucky swears and arches his back when he comes makes Steve lose control and moments later he, too, comes with a loud cry and collapses on top of Bucky. 

“I need a shower,” Bucky says when his breathing returns to normal, though his voice sounds rough. 

Steve lifts his head from where it was buried in the crook of Bucky’s neck. “Can I join you?” 

Bucky’s mouth curves into a slow smile. “That sounds nice, but I can barely fit in there on my own.” 

After they’ve showered, separately, Bucky turns his fan on the highest setting and pulls back his covers, inviting Steve to join him. Steve climbs on the mattress and settles down next to him, laying on his side, facing Bucky. 

“I hate this weather,” Bucky says, shifting closing to Steve so their faces are inches apart, their breaths mingling. “I wanna cuddle, but you’re like a damn furnace.”

“I’m so sorry. In my next life, I’ll come back as a lizard.” 

Bucky laughs softly. “You’d still be cute as fuck.”

“As a lizard?” Steve asks. His eyelids feel heavy, but he’s happier staying awake and talking to Bucky. 

“Yeah,” Bucky leans closer and presses a small kiss to the corner of his mouth. 

“You should come over to mine, after I get the air-conditioning installed. Can cuddle me all you want.”

“All night long?” 

“Mhm,” Steve hums, his eyes fluttering shut. 

Bucky nestles in closer, swinging a leg over Steve’s. “No better way to spend my Sunday.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy new year 🎉🥂


	9. Chapter 9

Bucky hasn’t so much gone off script as much as thrown the whole playbook away.

In the last week, he’s found himself on the business end of a .22 caliber Glock, had one of his best-quality listening devices discovered by a trigger-happy maniac who blew it to hell, and spent most of his Tuesday chasing after his hyperactive nephew around his brother-in-law’s mini mansion of a house. He’s managed to lock himself out of his car for good measure, too. 

He blames it on the fact that he broke the one and only rule he’s ever tried to impose on himself, which is not to mix work and romance, because nothing good ever comes out of it. Unfortunately for him, he seems to have no self control when he’s around Steve Rogers, because even if the little voice in his head tells him to say  _ no _ , he finds that he doesn’t want to listen to it, and he ends up saying  _ yes _ instead. But now that he’s gone and broken his golden rule, everything around him seems to be kind of falling apart. 

They’ve exhausted every lead and tried to approach their case from every angle, and now there isn’t much they can do but wait for the whistleblower that brought the case to Steve to return to the country so they can find out what she knows. That doesn’t mean they don’t find excuses to hang out, and ultimately end up naked at some point. Once, Bucky went over to Steve’s for drinks and a movie, and Steve answered the door with nothing but a towel around his hips, hair still wet from the shower. Bucky all but jumped on him, ready to devour him. 

Bucky gets home on Friday night a little after midnight, and heads straight to bed, falling face-first on it, not even bother to change out of his clothes. He’d been struggling to stay awake on the train, and he falls asleep shortly after his head hits the pillow; he sleeps like a log through the night. Bucky wakes with a startle at the crack of dawn when his phone starts ringing loudly, interrupting his slumber. He sits up quickly, ready to spring into action, and starts looking for his phone, which he’d apparently kicked off his mattress and onto the floor at some point during the night. 

“Hello?”

“You’re on loudspeaker,” is the first thing Sharon tells him. 

“Oh, crap,” Bucky hurries to his feet. “Where are you guys? What time did you land?”

“About half an hour ago,” Sharon says, her tone calm and calculated. “On the I-78, but we’re going the long way around. We’ve got a tail. It’s two guys in a blue Hyundai, if that’s at all helpful.”

“Were they waiting for you at the airport?”

“Yeah, from the looks of it.”

Bucky sighs, running a hand over his face. “Can you lose them?”

“I’m gonna pretend you didn’t ask that,” Sharon says, and he can almost picture the look she would give him if this were a face-to-face conversation. “I’ve got a room booked at the DoubleTree under Isabella Barnes, I’ll text you the address.”

“Should I tell the receptionist I’m your husband?” Bucky asks, unable to hide the mischief in his voice.

“And we’re hanging up,” Sharon says, and the call ends. 

Bucky chuckles to himself. He puts his phone aside and goes to take a shower. 

Three hours later, he finds himself navigating the identical corridors of the hotel, trying to find the room number Sharon had given him. Finally, he stops and double checks he’s at the right place, and knocks thrice in quick succession. Moments later, the door opens slightly, and a pair of curious deep brown eyes peer at him through the narrow crack. 

Sharon sighs with relief. “Come in,” she says and she pulls the door wide open, gesturing with her head for Bucky to follow her.

She looks exhausted, but wide awake. She’s dressed in comfy sweatpants and a thin white tank top, her straight blonde hair placed in a messy bun. She walks inside the suite, her bare feet padding softly across the carpeted floor, and heads over to the glass doors, sliding them open before stepping out onto the balcony. Bucky follows her, taking a quick glance around the room; it’s one of the more expensive suites, with a separate bedroom behind the closed door at the back of the room, and a balcony with a gorgeous view of the city.

Bucky takes a seat at the table and watches as Sharon picks up a cigarette, and offers one to Bucky. Shrugging, he takes one out of the pack and picks up the lighter from the table. 

“Where’s Nayeli?” Bucky asks. 

“Asleep. She was an anxious wreck on the plane. I gave her half a Xanax after we checked in, and she passed out almost immediately.” Sharon speaks in hushed tones. She takes a drag and blows out the smoke, and turns her head to look at Bucky. “She’s scared, you know.”

“I know,” Bucky sighs. He fiddles with the cigarette for a moment, avoiding her gaze. There’s curiosity behind those almond-shaped eyes, and Bucky’s not ready to answer her questions. He busies himself, lighting his cigarette and inhaling deeply. The smoke burns his throat as it travels down, making him cough. “Sorry to drag you into this. How long before you need to head back?”

Sharon shrugs. She brings her knees to her chest and wraps her free arm around them. “Might stick around for a bit. I’m due for a holiday.”

Bucky huffs a laugh. “You and me, both. Where are you thinking of going?”

“I don’t know,” Sharon says, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Any recommendations?”

Bucky thinks about it for a moment. He takes another drag of his cigarette then puts it out in the ashtray. There’s a reason he’d dropped the habit ten years ago. “Southern Europe,” he says, confident in his answer. “Italy, Malta, Greece.”

Sharon hums, and changes the subject. “Tell me about this case you’re working on.”

“Ah,” Bucky rubs the back of his neck. “Can’t. Sorry. You know, confidentiality and all.”

“Really,” Sharon says drily. “What confidentiality, pray tell? Last time I checked, you were still burned.”

Bucky shoots her a glare. “You know, I do wonder why I’m your only friend, you’re such a lovely person and all.”

She laughs and rolls her eyes, and puts out her cigarette. “Likewise.” She says, smiling sweetly. She gets to her feet and goes back inside for a moment, returning with a beige coloured folder and dropping it on the table next to the ashtray and the coffee she’d finished long ago. 

“What’s this?” Bucky asks, picking up the folder. 

“This is everything I found on Olsen,” Sharon settles onto her chair, and stretches out her legs, resting them on the empty chair opposite her. “It’s not much, but it might help.”

“How’d you get your hands on this?” Bucky asks, studying the first page. “Why’s the CIA interested in this guy?”

“We’re not,” Sharon tells him. “Someone owed me a favour. It’s everything the FBI have on him.”

“Ah,” Bucky sits back and flicks through the pages. There’s some known aliases, connections with other persons of interest, including some ex-cons. There’s more than Bucky had expected, but that’s probably because he doesn’t have much faith in his country’s justice system. “Thanks for this.”

Sharon shrugs, nonchalant, and looks away, taking in the view. Below them, the city is bustling, busy and full of life as always. It’s a little past nine in the morning on a Wednesday, and people are hurrying along the streets, in a rush to get to their destination, to get their shopping done, to meet their friends, to make it on time for a lecture or a job interview or a dentist appointment. The sounds from the traffic on the street just below the balcony provides pleasant background noise to their conversation.

“Is Steve the guy who brought you this case?”

Bucky’s head snaps up. “Yeah. I don’t remember telling you that.”

“Nayeli asked me to get in touch with him when we landed.” Sharon says. 

“Right,” Bucky nods, and pretends to be reading Olsen’s file, but the words won’t register. “Yeah, we’ve been working together on this.”

“He’s a journalist?”

Bucky sighs, leaning back on his chair. “I don’t know what I was thinking, putting a whistleblower and a spy on a seven hour flight together. What else did she tell you?”

Sharon grins, her eyes shining with glee. “Like I said, she was nervous. People tend to babble when they’re nervous.”

“Were you holding a gun to her head?”

“Please, that’s not really my style. Anyway,” she stretches with a yawn. “I’m happy to keep an eye on her for you. I’m gonna send you a bill for this,” she gestures vaguely around herself, meaning the hotel room. 

“Lovely,” Bucky says, all sarcasm. “I’m gonna head out. Let me know when she’s up,” he gets to his feet and picks up the folder. 

“Bring Steve,” Sharon says casually, but he can tell she wants to meet him, if nothing else to satisfy her own curiosity.

Bucky picks up his second cup of coffee and some baked treats for breakfast and texts Steve as he walks to the subway station, letting him know he’s on his way. Steve tells him he’s out shopping, but he’ll be home in half an hour, and Bucky makes a bet with himself about whether he can get to Steve’s house before the homeowner arrives. Luck is on his side, because he’s minutes away from the house and he messages Steve again, asking for an update, to which Steve says, ‘ _ Traffic. Home in five’ _ . Bucky smiles to himself as he easily unlocks Steve’s front door and lets himself in. He takes a look around the living room, shaking his head at the mess. There’s empty takeout boxes and a half finished coffee, along with Steve’s usual piles of notes and discarded ideas on crumpled up papers strewn about. Bucky kicks off his shoes, picks up a notebook and settles on the sofa, stretching his legs out. 

True to his word, Steve arrives moments later. Bucky hears the key in the lock and his face breaks into a grin, almost giddy to catch Steve by surprise. However, he is the one who is caught off guard when he hears another voice, who he recognises by now.  _ Aw, crap.  _

There isn’t time to backpedal, Bucky realises, so he stays where he is, tucking his arm under his head and pretending to read Steve’s notes. 

Steve gasps as soon as he walks in the living room. “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he says, shoulders deflating. 

Bucky grins at him. “You know, you should really get a security system installed.”

Steve sets the blue IKEA bag he’s holding on the floor, and flops down on the loveseat. “What I should do is call the cops on you.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

Natasha walks in the room then, a glass of iced water in her hand she’d helped herself to from Steve’s kitchen. She greets Bucky and takes a seat on the armchair, swinging her legs over the armrest. “I didn’t realise you two had a key to each other’s place.”

Bucky swears internally but manages a smirk. “Are you forgetting I’m an excellent lock-picker?” he asks her, deflecting. 

“You mean criminal.” Steve says drily.

“But an excellent one.”

“All spies are just glorified criminals, Steve.” Natasha says, getting to her feet. 

“Told you,” Bucky says, addressing Steve, who rolls his eyes and slumps further down his seat. 

“I left the rest of the bags in the kitchen,” she tells Steve, and leans down to give him a quick half-hug before she takes off. 

“Thanks for today!” Steve calls out after her.

“You owe me one!” Natasha calls back before shutting the door behind her. 

Steve turns his attention back to the intruder. “Is there a reason you decided to break in?”

“Thought you’d be happy to see me,” Bucky sits up, putting the notebook back on the coffee table. 

Steve raises an eyebrow at him, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly in amusement. There’s a playful glint in his eye, the kind that gives Bucky butterflies. “You’re kind of a thrill-seeker, aren’t you?” he asks with a slight tilt of his head. 

“Pot, kettle.” Bucky can’t hide his smile. He can barely restrain himself from pouncing on the man.

Steve rolls his eyes again and gets to his feet, busying himself with tidying up. “Give me a hand with these, punk.”

“Sir, yes, sir!”

After the place looks tidier, Steve goes through his shopping bags and shows Bucky the various knick knacks he’d picked up at IKEA, which included some candles, a set of storage boxes that doubled as decor, a brass table clock, and his favourite item - a bedside lamp with a wireless charging pad. Bucky is far more interested in watching Steve’s microexpressions and the way he talks excitedly about his new possessions, than any of the cool new products Steve eagerly shows off. He’s really gone on this man, he realises. So much that he’d entirely forgotten the reason he came to see him in the first place. 

Bucky tries to find a gap in their conversation to bring up the subject, and eventually ends up blurting it out. “Nayeli is back in New York, by the way.”

Steve’s head snaps up, his eyes wide open. “Since when?” he demands. 

“They just landed this morning.” Bucky explains. “They’re staying at a hotel, we can go meet them later.”

Steve looks down at the transparent vase in his hands. He sets it down on the coffee table and sits down, dropping his head into his hands. 

Bucky sits down on the table in front of him. “You okay?” he asks, concerned. 

Steve looks up at him and nods. “It’s just - I think this is pretty much our last hope, isn’t it? I mean, I’ve tried everything, and so have you, and I’m starting to think there isn’t anything  _ to  _ find.”

On impulse, Bucky reaches out and takes Steve’s hand, holding it between his own. “We’ll find something. I promise.”

“Yeah,” Steve nods again. He clears his throat and gets to his feet, and gets back to the task at hand, putting things away and picking up plastic wraps and cardboard boxes to throw away.

Bucky tries to help, but he wonders if he should maybe come up with an excuse and leave, if only to give Steve some space. He’s less talkative than usual, and there’s a deep crease between his eyebrows, the corners of his mouth turned slightly downward. 

When they’re done, Steve turns and looks around the room, then brightens up with a smile when his gaze meets Bucky’s. “You hungry? I’m starving.”

“I could eat,” Bucky tilts his head, chewing on his lip. 

Steve’s smile grows wider, and in two long strides he crosses the room and wraps himself around Bucky, tucking his face in the crook of his neck. Bucky lets out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding, his arms slowly looping around Steve, hugging him close. When they break their embrace, Steve lifts his head, and placing a hand on Bucky’s chin, he presses his lips to Bucky’s in a soft kiss. Bucky sighs into the kiss, and responds in kind, and not before long the kiss turns heated. 

“Food can wait, right?” Steve asks when they break apart, breathless. 

Bucky nods eagerly and closes the gap between them again. They barely make it upstairs to Steve’s bedroom, with some clothes being discarded and left on the staircase that leads to the second floor. This is definitely not what he had in mind when he came over, Bucky thinks later on, as they lie naked in bed trying to catch their breaths, but somehow it’s where they end up, over and over again. 

Steve rolls over to lie on his side, shuffling closer to press a small kiss to Bucky’s shoulder before he props up an arm and rests his head on his knuckles. 

Bucky turns his head and looks at him, curious about the little smile playing on Steve’s lips. “What are you thinking about?”

Steve shrugs. “Thinking about whether I should pay you a compliment. Weighing the pros and cons. I mean, I wouldn’t want to inflate your ego any more-”

“My ego?!” Bucky exclaims, scandalised. He sits up and grabs a pillow from the other end of the bed from where they lay, and tries valiantly to hit Steve with it, but Steve grabs him and tackles him onto the bed, climbing over him. 

Bucky knows he could easily overpower him and gain the upper hand, but he lets Steve pin his wrists above his head and pretends it doesn’t turn him on. 

“Spit it out,” 

Steve bites down on his bottom lip, trying to fight a smile. “I think you...you give really good head.”

“Oh,” Bucky rolls his eyes. “I knew  _ that _ .”

“See? Ego.”

With one swift move, Bucky flips them around so that he comes out on top, straddling Steve’s thighs, but before he gets a chance to pin Steve’s hands down, Steve grabs him and pulls him down for a kiss. Bucky doesn’t even try to struggle; he puts his hands on Steve and kisses him back, slow and leisurely, like they have all the time in the world. Bucky can’t get enough of him. His senses zero in on the feel of Steve’s hands where they rest on his hips, the warmth that radiates from his body at every point of contact of bare skin. Bucky pulls away for a moment, repositioning himself so he’s laid down next to Steve, swinging a leg over Steve’s middle as they come together again. 

“We should probably get dressed,” Steve says some time later. 

“And eat something,” Bucky sighs and sits up, looking around for his clothes. 

Steve only bothers to put on his underwear before he heads straight to the kitchen and pulls out the leftover pizza from the fridge and eats it cold right out of the box. Bucky makes a teasing remark and Steve sticks out his tongue at him, and Bucky cringes at the sight. He grabs a plate from Steve’s cupboard and heats up a couple of slices in the microwave, and leans against the island as he waits for the food to warm up. 

“Listen, um,” Bucky clears his throat, folding his arms across his chest. “Can we - you know, um, when we go to meet Nayeli and Sharon later on - can we - keep things professional?”

Steve blinks in surprise. He nods and swallows before he speaks. “Yeah. Of course.”

“I mean…” Bucky trails off with a sigh. “Like, between us.”

“I got that.”

Bucky glances at him. “Okay. Cool. Thanks.”

Steve abandons his food for a moment and walks up to him, coming to stand by his side. He looks like he wants to say something, but Bucky is resolutely staring at the microwave and trying to avoid eye contact if possible. He hates that he had to ask that of Steve, but it had been on his mind for a few days now. The microwave beeps and Bucky grabs his meal and in his hurry to start eating burns his tongue while taking a bite, and neither of them says anything else on the subject. 


	10. Chapter 10

Nayeli Adams greets both men with a firm handshake and a warm smile. She looks younger in person than the photos he’d seen of her on her LinkedIn or Instagram profiles, Steve notes. Her curly brown hair is tied up into a ponytail, and she’s dressed in white sandals and a long dress, the bright yellow colour of which is a sharp contrast to her dark brown skin. Meeting her in person, Steve is reminded she’s just a recent college graduate who’s caught up in something way above her paygrade. 

“I’m so happy to meet you finally,” she says as they sit down around the coffee table of the hotel room she’s currently sharing with Sharon. “And thank you for getting me here safely. It’s good to be back, but it doesn’t really feel like I’m all the way back yet.” She waves her hand dismissively. “Don’t mind me, I’m just sleep deprived.”

Steve regards her carefully. “How are you, sleep deprivation aside?”

“I’m okay, really,” Nayeli nods with a smile. “I mean, I’m glad I’m out of there. Ironically, I always wanted to visit Europe, but not like this,” she says, shaking her head, her dark eyes widening for emphasis. “I literally felt like I was in prison. No offense.”

Steve glances at Bucky, a slight frown crossing his features. “Uh, none taken.”

“You’re...free to go,” Bucky adds. “But it might be better if you get out of town for a while. For your own safety.”

“Oh, no, no, don’t worry,” Nayeli shakes her head. “I meant like, over there in Brussels. I barely left my apartment, not even to go sightseeing. Anyway,” she looks at Sharon and smiles. “I’m gonna go stay with my friend in San Diego for a while. Sharon offered to come with me, just in case.”

“See, I can be nice.” Sharon says, shooting Bucky a pointed look, who rolls his eyes. 

Nayeli chuckles. “I’ve never had a personal bodyguard before. Kind of like the secret service.”

“Don’t-” Bucky warns her. “It’ll just go straight to her ego.” He says, jerking his thumb towards Sharon, who grins in response. 

Steve looks between the two of them with a smile, then turns to Nayeli. “I’m sorry to ask, but is there anything you can tell us? About your former boss?”

The girl smiles with a hint of secretive mischief. “I’ve got something way better.” She gets up and straightens her skirt, then heads off to the bedroom, calling out ‘B-R-B’ to the group as she goes. 

Steve looks at Bucky. “Should we be worried?” he asks, whispering. 

“I wouldn’t,” Sharon answers instead, walking around to flop down on the armchair Nayeli was occupying, and flashing Steve a big smile. “So, how long have you been a journalist for?”

“Um,” Steve blinks, taken aback. “About eight or so years now.” 

Sharon nods. “Anything I might have read?”

“Probably not, unless you specifically Google my name.” Steve says, smiling warmly. “Which, even as I say it, I realise you probably have.”

Sharon’s eyes dart from Steve to Bucky only for a fleeting moment, before she looks back at Steve, meeting his gaze. “It would have been ruder if I hadn’t.” she says, reaching for her phone. “You guys want any coffee? It’s on me, by which I mean it’s on Barnes,”

“Well, seen as I’m bankrolling this whole thing,” Steve grins. “I’ll have a latte.”

“Nayeli? Coffee?”

“Iced latte, please!” Nayeli calls back from the other room before she comes back, carrying a bright yellow makeup bag with her. She sits down on the other free armchair and digs around until she finds what she’s looking for and pulls it out triumphantly. “Here it is,” she says, handing it over to Steve. 

Steve looks at the USB stick on his palm curiously. “What’s on it?”

“The emails I wasn’t supposed to see.” She smiles cheekily. “I saved them before I handed over the laptop. I don’t think he realised or maybe he did, I don’t know.”

“That’s amazing,” Steve can’t quite find the words. “This is… a breakthrough.”

Nayeli smiles, pleased with herself. “That’s just something my mom taught me. Always save the paper trail.”

“Your mom sounds like a very wise woman,” Bucky tells her. 

“Oh God, yeah, but don’t tell her that,” Nayeli laughs. “Anyway, I hope it helps. I hope it’s been worth all this hassle. Please promise me you’re gonna take these assholes down.”

“We’ll try our best.” Bucky tells her. “Sorry you got caught up in all this. If there’s anything I can help you with, just give me a call.”

“Nah, it’s alright. I mean, I couldn’t do  _ nothing _ .” She shrugs. “Anyway, when this whole thing is over, I’m throwing the biggest party of my life, I swear. You’re all invited, obviously.”

“I will  _ be there _ ,” Sharon says and Nayeli cheers excitedly. 

“Can we borrow your laptop?” Bucky asks then, addressing Sharon. 

“You mean my  _ work _ laptop? Not a chance.” 

“To look at the emails?” Nayeli asks, getting to her feet. “You can borrow mine. It’s  _ really  _ slow, though, it’s an old piece of junk, hang on,” she goes to fetch it and returns moments later. 

The four of them huddle together near the screen as they skim through the emails. There’s enough in there to raise questions, and things that are definitely sketchy, if not outright incriminating, but what Nayeli has managed to get her hands on barely scratches the surface of the operation Olsen and his associates have set up. But - it’s a start. It may even be enough to kickstart a federal investigation, or at the very least, give the feds the legal means to subpoena all of Olsen’s personal documents.

They stay until late, talking over coffee and room service for dinner, while Nayeli tells them stories of her time at the company, and everything that happened from the day she’d stumbled upon the incriminating evidence to when she was finally free to go home. She talks of the NDA they made her sign the day she handed in her resignation, and that she hadn’t even had a chance to read through it properly or have her lawyer-in-training friend look it over for her. Then she talked about how she’d connected with another former employee and they’d been trading stories of all the weird shady shit they’d come across during their time as PAs for the C-suites at the company, mostly to do with the inner operations as one of the big names in the pharmaceuticals industry. 

“It’s so good to actually get all this off my chest,” Nayeli says, stifling a yawn. “Sorry for boring you with my rambling.”

“Not at all,” Steve tells her. “I’d like to include some of the things you’ve talked about in my article, if that’s okay with you.”

She seems to consider this for a moment, drawing her knees to her chest as she curls up on the armchair. “Yeah, I think so. Can I stay anonymous?”

“Absolutely.” Steve nods. “I’ll make sure none of this can be traced back to you.”

Nayeli nods and offers him a small, tired smile. “Thanks.”

“If this thing goes to trial, you’ll have to testify.” Sharon tells her. 

Nayeli nods again. “I’d gladly testify,” she says. “I mean if it’ll put these guys away for good…then I kind of have to, you know?” 

The silence stretches out for a moment, hanging heavy in the room. 

“We’ll let you get some rest.” Bucky says, getting to his feet, Steve following suit. They bid their goodbyes and make their way out, with Bucky asking Sharon to call him if she needs back up, and Sharon reassuring him she can handle it well enough on her own. 

Bucky rolls his eyes as she all but shuts the door on his face. “You see what I have to deal with?” he asks, turning to Steve. 

“I heard that!” Sharon calls out from behind the closed door. 

Steve laughs and shakes his head and hoops his arm through Bucky’s as they start walking away. “Is this okay?” he asks in a whisper close to his ear, though there is a teasing edge to his tone.

Bucky rolls his eyes. “You can hardly help yourself, can you?”

“Hmmmm,” Steve drags out the sound until they’re inside the elevator, and seen as they’re on their own behind closed doors, he immediately puts his hands on Bucky’s waist and pulls him close. “When it comes to you, no, I can’t help myself.” He says, his face inches away from Bucky’s. 

“That’s so cheesy,” Bucky whispers, and kisses him. 

They break apart when the elevator comes to a halt and a group of semi-drunk twenty-somethings get on, taking up all the available space, and they’re sort of crowded into one corner, sharing looks of amusement. 

They take the subway to Bucky’s apartment, picking up more food on the way to snack on while they get to work on the case, finally having something new to go on with. There’s not a lot of information to comb through this time, thankfully - all in all there are maybe 10, 12 emails between the main three co-conspirators. Steve takes notes, hurriedly scribbling his pocket notebook as they read through the emails, and it’s starting to look promising. Even if the evidence they’ve gathered doesn’t end with the guilty parties behind bars, it’ll be enough to shut down their whole operation. 

They’re about to call it a night and turn in, when there’s a knock on Bucky’s door.

“Are you expecting anyone?” Steve asks. 

Bucky frowns. “Not really.” He grabs his phone and checks the feed of the security camera he’s got installed just outside his front door. “Oh, shit.” He mutters under his breath.

“What’s up?” Steve asks, keeping his voice low. 

“It’s Kurt,” Bucky shoots him a worried look and then goes to answer the door. 

Steve’s eyes follow him as he crosses the room, but he decides to hang back. He doesn’t know why, exactly, but he knows the two aren’t on good terms, and it would probably be better if he didn’t interfere. 

Bucky seems to be on guard when he opens the door. “Kurt.” he says, simply, tone neutral. “What brings you here?”

There’s a beat of silence before Kurt responds. “I am here to help,” he says in his distinct accent. 

Bucky’s stance relaxes. “Come on in,” he opens the door wide and steps aside. 

Kurt crosses the threshold and immediately brightens up when he sees Steve. “You are here too?” he says, the barest hint of a smile in his expression. “Good, we can work all together.”

Steve blinks in surprise. “Good to see you again.” 

Kurt nods in response and sets his messenger bag down on the armchair and pulls his laptop out. “So, what’s your Wi-Fi password?”

Bucky looks at Steve for a moment, as if trying to communicate with him telepathically. Steve lifts his shoulders slightly and lets them drop, and Bucky spins on his heel and goes to retrieve the scrap of paper on which he’d written down the password and chucked it in the miscellaneous drawer in his kitchen. It’s a long string of random letters and numbers that came when he got broadband installed and he never bothered to change it. 

“So, you changed your mind?” Bucky asks, bringing one of the chairs from the kitchen to sit down. 

Kurt breaths a laugh. “Why else would I be here?” he asks, his eyes glued to his computer screen. “It is not for the chocolates.”

“Ah.”

Steve glances between them. The tension in the room has him at the edge of his seat, and he can’t help it, he has to say something. “Thank you, Kurt, really.”

“It’s not a problem.”

“How-” Steve pauses and clears his throat. “What did you have in mind?”

Kurt looks up from his screen, meeting him in the eye. He seems surprised by the question. “You wanted this guy, Olsen, his personal laptop, yes?”

“We have some of his emails, if that helps,” Bucky says then, picking up the flash drive and handing it over to Kurt, whose eyes grow wide with excitement. 

“That will do.” He says, smiling to himself. 

“You’re gonna hack into his account,” Steve says then, catching on. He looks to Bucky, who nods in confirmation. “You can do that?”

“He’s a computer wizard.” Bucky says. 

“If you are trying to flatter me,” Kurt clicks his tongue. “It won’t work.”

“My bad.”

Steve thinks about it for a moment. He gets to his feet and goes to see what Kurt is doing on his laptop, and instantly wonders why he bothered at all, because it is beyond the scope of his understanding of computer science. “Isn’t that dangerous? Like, will he not know he’s being hacked?”

Kurt hums. “It’s possible. We will see.” He looks up at Bucky then. “I need a second computer.”

Bucky happily obliges, and Kurt sets up his working station on the coffee table. “I will also need a cold beer.” he says.

Bucky rolls his eyes and goes to fetch the drink, and Kurt smiles, pleased with himself. “This is nice,” he says, settling on the armchair and making himself comfortable. He beckons Steve over and in a conversational whisper tells him, “What else do you think I could get him to do? Maybe I can keep his laptop? It’s a nice laptop.”

Steve bites back a smile. “Does he owe you a favour, or something?”

“Ah, no, bro, it’s the guilt.”

“Guilt about what?”

Kurt looks at him. “You don’t know? Hey, Barnes, you didn’t tell Steve that you got my brother deported?”

Steve’s eyes grow wide open, and his head snaps to Bucky, who stands frozen in his spot. 

“Okay that’s-” Bucky sighs. He walks back to the living room and hands the bottle to Kurt, who grins a shit-eating grin. “Look, I have- I have apologised for that, okay? I didn’t do it  _ on purpose _ !”

Kurt shakes his head. “Americans,” he sighs.

“To be fair, that doesn’t sound like something Bucky would do.” Steve says, and Bucky groans and flops down on the couch, dropping his head in his hands. When he gets no response, Steve decides to ask one more time. “Is there more to the story, or…? You’re not an undercover ICE agent, are you?” 

Bucky groans again, and Steve nudges him with his foot before sitting down next to him. Bucky looks up, pushing his hair out of his face. “The guy was involved in a smuggling ring,” he says, not really meeting Steve in the eye. “It’s not like I sent an innocent man to his death, or something.”

Kurt shoots him a sharp look. “You sent him to worse than death.”

“Okay, I feel like that might be an exaggeration.” Bucky says, and Kurt glares at him even harder. “And I did offer to help you bring him back, if I recall correctly, but you-”

“Yes, yes,” Kurt makes a gesture with his hand as if to shoo him away. “Let me concentrate.”

There’s still questions that Steve would like to ask, but he keeps them to himself. He looks at Bucky on his right and, sensing his obvious discomfort, offers him a small, reassuring smile. Bucky smiles back, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and the room falls silent. As Kurt so politely requested, they let him focus on gaining access to Olsen’s email account, and not even a full hour later, he manages to do so. 

“You’re kidding,” Steve all but jumps in his rush to go look at the newly discovered evidence. “Holy shit.”

“This is everything,” Kurt says as he scrolls through the inbox and starts downloading the individual emails, and sighs in frustration. “Your internet is slow as shit, Barnes.”

Bucky scoffs. “Thanks, pal.”

“Not pal.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, and turns to Steve, who’s still processing the breakthrough. He can’t quite believe his eyes. 

“Hey,”

Steve looks away from the laptop, turning his head to meet Bucky in the eye. “Hey,” he replies, and Bucky grins at him, his smile stretching ear to ear. 

“We did it, pal.”

Steve exhales shakily. “Yeah,”

“Yes,  _ we  _ did it,” Kurt says, voice dripping with sarcasm. He gets to his feet and goes to fetch himself another drink. “Anyway, I am not yet finished.”

“I think that’s all we need, to be honest,” Steve takes a seat on the armchair and clicks through some of the correspondence, his eyes scanning the screen quickly as he scrolls along. There’s definitely enough to open an official investigation; maybe even enough to indict him and his associates.

Kurt shrugs and doesn’t question it. He waits until the emails are downloaded and shuts down his laptop and packs it in his bag. “Well, I guess my work here is done.”

“Thanks for helping out,” Bucky says, offering his hand. “I owe you one.”

Kurt nods and shakes Bucky’s hand and says, “Don’t bother me for another six months,  _ and  _ you owe me one.”

Bucky laughs and agrees to the terms and sees him off. He walks over to the chair where Steve is sitting and settles on the armrest, stretching his arm over the back for support. Steve glances at him briefly, too engrossed in the wealth of newly discovered information, wanting to skim through everything at least once. This is what he has been searching for since April, when Nayeli first reached out to him with the intel - though that feels like forever ago.

Bucky sits by his side, silently waiting until Steve’s decided he’s had enough and needs a break, when the words start blurring together and he feels a dull ache behind his eyes. He pushes the laptop away and closes the lid, slumping back in the chair. 

“You okay?” Bucky asks him, reaching out to drag his fingers through Steve’s hair. 

“Yeah,” Steve breathes, pressing his palms to his eyes. 

“You sure?”

Steve nods firmly. “I’m just...very tired.”

“Yeah, it’s well past your bedtime, mister,” Bucky gets to his feet and pulls Steve up with him, wrapping his arms around him. “Go get washed up and I’ll tuck you into bed.”

Steve wrinkles his nose in distaste. “I’m not a baby.” He protests, and he makes sure to use his whiniest voice, too, for good measure. 

“Overgrown baby,” Bucky spins him around and starts nudging him towards the bathroom. “Off you go, you big baby.”

Steve rolls his eyes but he obliges. It is very late, and he’s too tired to keep the joke going. He falls asleep pretty much as soon as his head hits the pillow, so maybe Bucky had a point after all.


	11. Chapter 11

“Did you watch the Channel Four news last night? They did a very good job of roasting you.”

Steve chuckles. “I didn’t, but I think I got the gist of it on Twitter today. They had some zingers.”

“Bad puns are not zingers, Steve,” Bucky chastises him and Steve laughs.

“Hey,” Steve says, then pauses briefly. “You’re coming on Saturday, right?”

Bucky thinks about it for a moment. Housewarming barbecue parties aren’t really his scene; initially, he’d said as much to Steve, but Steve had done a pretty good job of convincing him to come along, and really, it seemed that he really wanted Bucky there - for some reason. “Yeah, I’ll be there,” he says eventually. “Mind if I bring a plus-one?” he asks. 

There’s a beat of silence before Steve replies. “Sure. More the merrier.”

Bucky chews on his lip. “Alright. I’ll see you Saturday.”

The call ends shortly after Steve says his goodbyes, and Bucky looks at the darkened screen for a moment before he tosses it on the vacant passenger seat, letting his head fall back on the headrest. 

Things had gone over smoothly, or, as smoothly as possible for a rogue operation. Two of the three men had been arrested and were out on bail until the trial. Olsen had been abroad, and hadn’t returned to the country since the warrant for his arrest had been issued, with the FBI showing up at his home looking for him. The accountant-slash-money-launderer that helped their operation had gone underground, and was currently considered a fugitive. There had been half a dozen other arrests, of mid-level managers and errand boys, a lot of the people that Bucky had gathered intel on during stakeouts, and he was glad to see that they were being charged. Whether the charge would lead to a conviction was still unclear. 

The news picked up the story a short few hours after Steve had published his article on his newly launched online newspaper, _Word for Word_ , which he’d hired Kurt to set up for him. There were a few headlines which questioned the reliability of the story; wondering who this Steve Rogers is, and how he managed to uncover a major conspiracy on his own. Steve had kept his sources anonymous - no mention of Bucky, or Nayeli, or Kurt. Even the people at Solarce and Aenergy who had agreed to be interviewed had wished to keep their identity hidden, and Steve had used pseudonyms to keep their anonymity. 

Eventually, he’d been taken into questioning, because while the evidence was all there for the FBI to arrest the guilty parties, they didn’t particularly like the fact that someone else had done their job better than them. Steve had said he wasn’t surprised, and he’d found two lawyers who came highly recommended from Bucky’s personal network, that he could call in the event that law enforcement came knocking.

Nelson and Murdock were perfectly capable, and more importantly, trustworthy, but it didn’t make Bucky feel any better about the fact that Steve was, officially or unofficially, considered a suspect. He’d parked down the road from the FBI headquarters in the city and gone through two packs of Twizzlers and three boxes of chocolate-covered raisins in three hours, while waiting on the edge of his seat to see Steve walk out of the building. He’d texted Steve about seven or eight times, asking him _‘what’s taking so long’_ and _‘call me when you get out’_ and _‘I’m dying here!!!!’_ but each text went unanswered.

When his phone rang a little after eight o’clock, Bucky had fallen asleep with his head resting on the wheel. He’d startled and jumped, hurrying to answer. 

“Hey, Buck,” Steve said. “I’m a free man.”

Relief washed over him, and Bucky sighed. “Thank fucking God,” he said as he started the ignition. “‘M just down the road. Stay where you are,”

“Wait, what?” Steve asked, but Bucky had already hung up and was driving the short distance to where Steve was waiting on the side of the road, much to his surprise.

“Were you waiting here this whole time?” Steve had asked as he climbed into the passenger seat. 

“I didn’t think it’d take this fucking long, did I?” Bucky had joked, trying to feign indifference, like it wasn’t a big deal that he’d sat in a car waiting for hours. “How long does it take to tell them to fuck off?”

Steve had laughed, and then they were off. They had dinner at a pizza place nearby and Steve told him about the interrogation process they made him go through, and then the conversation died down and they agreed that at least the case was out of their hands now, and toasted to a job well done. 

And now - well, now, Bucky’s not sure what he is to Steve, and what Steve is to him. 

Saturday rolls around before he knows it, the days flying by as he keeps himself busy with the odd job here and there. He’s been dreading Steve’s party, even if he tries to tell himself not to get worked up and that it probably won’t be as bad as he imagines. He asks Sharon to come along with him, and it takes a little convincing, but he promises her it’ll be worth it. On the day of the party, she swings by his place to pick him up and they drive to Steve’s place together. 

“What’s with the plant?” Sharon asks, giving him a strange look.

Bucky blinks, and looks down at the potted fern in his lap. “Housewarming gift. That’s...the norm, right?”

“As if I know,” Sharon scoffs. “I’m not planning to stay long, by the way. I trust you’ll find your way home.”

Bucky hums, noncommittal.

“Or not,” she adds under her breath. 

“Wait, what?” Bucky swings his head around to look at her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Sharon taps her fingers on the steering wheel while waiting for the traffic lights to turn green. “I dunno,” she shrugs, nonchalant. “You might be invited to stay over. Who knows?”

“Oh,” Bucky looks down at the plant again. “Yeah, I don’t think so.”

“Why not? I think he’s into you.”

Bucky grunts softly. “You know how it is, Carter.”

Sharon glances at him briefly. She seems thoughtful for a moment. “You got out, Bucky. Whatever it is you’re doing these days…” she pauses and sighs. “Your past is behind you. It’d be good for you, if you could move on.”

“Have you considered a career as a therapist?”

Sharon shoots him a glare. “Don’t test me, Barnes.”

Bucky laughs and they fall into a comfortable silence all the way to Steve’s house. The only available parking space is two roads down, and he tries to psych himself up as they walk to the house. Sharon bumps her shoulder into his and tells him to relax. 

“You relax,” Bucky grumbles under his breath and knocks on the door. 

It’s not Steve who opens the door - it’s Clint, carrying a tray of pigs in blankets in his arms. “Barnes! Come on in,” he says and leaves the door open, hurrying off towards the backyard. 

Bucky turns to Sharon with a smile. “After you.”

Steve’s nowhere to be seen, and there’s a whole lot of people Bucky doesn’t recognise hanging out in the living room, and even more in the kitchen. He’s ready to leave the fern on the floor and bolt when Luis finds him. 

“Hey, man, it’s good to see you!” Luis exclaims, and introduces himself to Sharon, extending an arm for a cursory handshake. “You guys want some drinks? We got a whole bunch in the garden, come on,”

Sharon follows him down the hallway but Bucky stays frozen in his spot. In a panic, he turns and leaves the gift on the kitchen island and hurries out into the garden. Luis beckons him over, and hands him a cold bottle of beer from the cooler, all the while keeping up the conversation with Sharon. Bucky’s only half-listening as he scans his surroundings. Steve’s done a great job turning the backyard into the perfect place for a late summer barbecue. The old swing set left behind by the previous occupants is gone, replaced by a stylish hanging chair, currently occupied by Cassie, swinging her legs back and forth to give her the momentum needed to keep the chair swinging. There’s two other kids playing fetch with Clint’s overgrown puppy of a dog, and being told off by a nearby adult to be gentle with the canine. At the far end of the garden is the grill, and a large table with all sorts of snacks and homemade baked goods, while Luis has set up shop with his cooler near the double glass doors, offering beverages to newly arrived guests. 

Finally, some familiar faces; Natasha spots him from across the garden and raises her glass in greeting. Bucky waves back at her, and waits for the opportune moment to pipe up with, “If you’ve got a moment, I’d like to introduce you to a friend of mine.”

Sharon turns to him, curiosity evident in her face. “Sure thing,” she says.

“Excuse us for a moment, Luis,” Bucky loops his arm through Sharon’s. “I think you might know her actually,” he says as they start crossing the garden. “Her name’s Natasha Romanoff.”

“Natasha-” Sharon freezes. “ _The_ Natasha Romanoff? The Black Widow - _that_ Natasha Romanoff?”

“One and only.”

Sharon shakes her head, planting her feet firmly on the ground. “No fucking way.” she hisses at him. “Oh my God, this was a set up!”

Bucky presses his lips together. “You make it sound so insidious. I promised you coming to this party would be worth your while, didn’t I?”

Sharon shakes her head furiously. “No fucking way. No, no, no, I’m not doing this.”

“Come on, now, don’t be shy,” Bucky says, gently nudging her forwards. “Hey, Nat. How’s it going?”

“Same old,” Natasha jerks her head towards Clint, manning the barbeque not two feet away. “Just making sure no one starts any fires.”

Clint groans. “That only happened twice.”

“That’s too many times, Clint,”

Bucky laughs. “By the way, this is my friend-”

“Kate,” Sharon interjects. 

Bucky glances at Sharon briefly, raising a questioning eyebrow. “Kate. Kate, this is Natasha,”

“Pleasure to meet you,” Natasha gives her a warm smile, going in for a handshake.

Sharon nods as they shake hands, and only lets go when Bucky clears his throat. “Likewise,” she says quickly. “Very nice to meet you. Um, so how do you guys know each other?”

“Mutual friends,” Natasha answers easily. It’s not far from the truth. “Speaking of… I should go give Clint a hand with those burgers.”

Once she’s out of earshot, Sharon lets out a long breath, while Bucky bites the inside of his cheek to keep himself from bursting out laughing. 

“I am going to murder you in cold blood,” Sharon says through gritted teeth. 

“What? I thought you’d love to meet your celebrity crush and all.”

“Oh my God,” Sharon breathes, shoulders sagging. “Did I freak her out? I freaked her out.”

“No, no,” Bucky says, voice dripping with sarcasm. “You definitely played it cool... _Kate_ ,”

She shoots him a deadly glare. “I’m going to go find the host and wish him happy housewarming or whatever, and then I’m taking off. You’re not allowed to contact me for the rest of the year-” she says, pointing a finger at him. “You hear me?”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “This is the thanks I get?”

“Do. You. Hear. Me.” Sharon repeats, accentuating each word with a sharp poke to Bucky’s chest.

“Ouch,” Bucky stumbles backwards. “Loud and clear.”

“Good,” Sharon says and spins on her heel, walking away. She pauses, and turns to look at him. “And one last thing. About Steve - don’t do anything stupid.”

“Okay, _Mom_.”

“Fuck you, Barnes,” she says and walks off. 

Bucky shakes his head and goes to hang out with Natasha and Clint. “What have we got here?”

“Bratwurst, burgers, other types of wurst,” Clint says, gesturing at the food with a pair of tongs. “Grab a plate.”

Natasha turns to him, then. “Everything okay with your friend? _Kate_ , was it?” 

Bucky meets her gaze head on. “Yeah,” he smiles easily. “She’s just a bit nervous. Social anxiety.”

“Poor thing.” 

Clint turns around, leaving the food on the grill unattended for a moment, turning his attention to the pair. “You’re doing it again,” he says, tone scolding. 

Bucky bites back a grin. Natasha puts on her best innocent face. “Doing what?”

Clint rolls his eyes. “You know exactly what. Cut it out, that shit’s creepy.” He grumbles as he turns back to the grill. “It’s a goddamn housewarming party, not Christmas at the Pentagon.”

“Speaking of,” Bucky makes an effort to sound nonchalant, “Where’s the host? Haven’t wished him a happy housewarming. Or whatever.” 

“You’re supposed to congratulate him,” Natasha says, then, with a slight tilt of her head, adds, “He’s in the attic with Sam. They’ve been up there for ages, someone should go get them.” 

Bucky’s stomach twists uncomfortably. He tries to shake it off, but he can’t seem to be able to focus on the conversation, because the only thought in his head is, _Who’s Sam_ , and _What’s Steve doing with Sam in the attic_ , and _It doesn’t matter, because Steve is free to do whatever he wants with anyone he wants because you’re not exclusive._ They’re not even _dating_ , Bucky thinks to himself; if anything, it was a relationship of convenience that’s likely come to an end.

“I’m gonna grab another drink.” Bucky excuses himself from the pair and heads over to the drinks station. He’s surprised to see Sharon hasn’t left yet, but is happily chatting to Luis and Scott. Bucky picks up another beer and slides up to Sharon, offering her a beer as an olive branch, which she gladly accepts. 

When she excuses herself to go grab some food, Luis watches her go with a lovestruck expression on his face. Bucky puts a hand on his shoulder, drawing him close. “Buddy, sorry to tell you, but you’re barking up the wrong tree.”

“I knew it,” Scott says. “I told you I have gaydar.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, but smiles. “Sure, Scott.”

Luis doesn't seem to have heard either of them. “You think you can give her my number?” he asks Bucky.

“Luis, she’s gay.” 

“Oh. Oh, man. Are you sure?” 

“Pretty sure, yeah.” Bucky pats his back in what he hopes is a comforting gesture. “Sorry, pal.”

“Damn. Just my luck.” Luis sighs. “She got a sister?” 

Bucky laughs. “Uhh, don’t think so, no. She’s got an elderly aunt, if you’re into that sort of thing.” 

Luis appears to consider this. “How elderly we talking?” he asks, and the three of them burst out laughing. 

Bucky hears his voice, as soon as Steve steps into the garden, followed by the man who Bucky does not recognise - Sam, presumably. Bucky lets his gaze linger for a moment, taking him in. God, he looks good; the bastard. There’s always something so comforting yet effortless in the way Steve dresses, the checked button up with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, worn over a pair of dark blue jeans. Bucky can’t quite make out what they’re talking about, but something that Sam says, has Steve in stitches, one hand over his own chest, and another grasping his friend’s shoulder. There’s that twinge in his chest again, which Bucky resolutely ignores. It’s that _longing,_ the urge to wrap himself in Steve’s arms, soak up the warmth he radiates; like a flower turning towards the sun, Bucky is helpless. His feet take him to Steve before he even realises he’s moving. 

Steve lights up when he sees Bucky, and pulls him in for a hug. “Thanks for coming, Buck,” he says close to Bucky’s ear, sending shivers down his spine. “Have you met Sam? We were just brainstorming ideas for what to do with the attic.” Steve smiles sheepishly, and the look in his eyes is nothing short of apologetic. It’s goddamn adorable. “It’s kind of too small for anything other than storage.”

“Or, a cosy home theatre for two, by the time I’m done with it,” Sam says, beaming brightly. “Hey, I’m Sam. Bucky, right?”

Bucky nods, and shakes the hand Sam offers him. “Good to meet you, Sam.” 

“Likewise. Congratulations on the big win, by the way. You guys did a good job.” 

“Sam’s the one who put me in touch with Nayeli,” Steve explains. 

“Right,” Bucky nods again. “I can’t take too much credit. We really owe it all to Kurt.”

Steve shakes his head. “He’s being too modest,” he says to Sam, then turns to Bucky again. “We did good work. I think we deserve to celebrate.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Sam says, and turns towards the cooler, when suddenly, a girl of about four or five comes running up to him. 

“Daddyyyyy,” she cries out, looking up at Sam. “Dad won’t let me have ice cream.”

Sam crouches down and scoops her up in his arms. “This is my daughter, Laurel. Say hi to Bucky, sweetheart.”

Laurel looks at Bucky for a moment, her brown eyes regarding him curiously. “Hi, Bucky.” she says, waving at him.

“Hello, Laurel. You have a beautiful name.”

The girl beams at him. “You have a funny name.”

Sam looks scandalised, while Steve and Bucky burst out laughing. “Where are your manners, young lady?” he scolds her.

“Don’t worry about it. I get that a lot.” Bucky says. 

“It _is_ kind of a funny name.” Steve adds, and Bucky rolls his eyes.

“You’re not helping,” Sam shoots them a glare. “Come on, princess, let’s go find some food.”

Laurel pouts. “I don’t want food. I want ice cream.”

“Aren’t you hungry?”

“No.”

“Well, I am. Catch you later, guys,” Sam waves at them, and with that, they take off, leaving the two of them on their own. Bucky watches them go as he finishes off his beer, and puts the empty bottle on the nearby table. When he turns to look at Steve again, he’s surprised to see Steve has stepped closer to him, invading his personal space. 

“I’m really glad you came,” Steve tells him, his gaze flicking from Bucky’s eyes to his mouth. “Can I kiss you?”

Bucky’s breath catches in his throat. “I got you something,” he says, stepping backwards. “I kind of left it in the kitchen,” he says, and beckons Steve to follow him. 

Steve’s face lights up when he sees the plant. He picks it up and takes a closer look. “Oh wow, this is gorgeous. You really didn’t have to.”

“It’s a Boston Fern,” Bucky says. “The florist recommended keeping it in the bathroom. It likes the humidity, he said.”

“Thank you,” Steve puts the plant back on the counter and takes a quick look around the room, and seeing as they’re alone, he grabs Bucky by his hips and plants a firm kiss to his mouth. 

Bucky goes weak at the knees. Against his better judgement, he wraps his arms around Steve’s shoulders and kisses him back. For that brief moment when their lips are locked, his mind quiets down, his insecurities fading away, all his senses zeroing in on Steve’s firm grasp on him, and the way his lips move gently against Bucky’s. He almost forgets all about that nagging feeling at the back of his mind, telling him that he doesn’t belong here, in Steve’s house, in Steve’s social circle, pretending to be Steve’s - friend? Boyfriend? Both? Or neither? 

The doorbell rings, and someone goes to open the door, and the pair break apart. Steve smiles at him, and presses one last kiss to his lips. “I should go greet my guests. Stick around, okay? I’ve got a surprise for you.”

Bucky nods and heads back into the garden in search of food. Moments later Steve reappears, with two women he introduces to Bucky as Carol and Maria, his next door neighbours, and their 9-year-old daughter, Monica. 

Throughout the evening, Steve keeps running around, making sure there’s enough food and drinks for everyone, giving back to back tours of his new home, cleaning up here and there as he goes along. Bucky hardly spends any real time with him, and despite the fact that there’s half a dozen people who he knows and is friends with, who are all happy to hang out with him and include him in their conversations, he can’t help but feel like the odd one out. The people he talks to, they’ve all got their own lives, with normal jobs, friends and coworkers, holiday plans with family gatherings, and their cats and dogs and kids, and Bucky-

Well.

Bucky’s still running around in New York, playing at being a spy, though it’s been a long time since he was employed in any formal capacity. He’s still figuring out how to get his life back on track when he’s got no credit score, no job history, and only enough cash tucked away at the bottom of his closet to skip town should the need arise. 

He doesn’t need to be told that he’s a mess. He has enough self awareness to know that he’s a mess. And Steve - Steve’s the kind of guy who deserves much, much better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> natsharon rights!!!!!! carolmaria rights!!!!!!!


	12. Chapter 12

“Hello?” Steve answers his phone in a gruff voice. He can hear some background noise, but whoever is calling him has yet to respond. Steve clears his throat and tries again. “Who is this?”

“Hey, Stevie,” 

_ Bucky _ . 

Steve’s breath catches in his throat as he utters the name in a mere whisper. He glances at his screen quickly, squinting to make out the caller ID, but all he sees is ‘unknown number.’ He has so many questions - first and foremost, why the fuck has Bucky been dodging his calls for the past month - but he doesn't get a chance to ask anything. 

“Can you pick me up? I’m about, umm…” Bucky trails off. He swears under his breath. “I can’t do math. Like four or five blocks from your place. I’m way too shitfaced to drive. Or walk. Definitely can’t walk.”

Steve huffs. He wants to tell him to get lost, and that he’s not a fucking taxi service, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to see him again. He sighs and says, “Text me your address.”

“I can do that. You’re really picking me up?”

“See you in ten,” Steve ends the call and gets to his feet. He quickly pulls his jeans on and grabs his jacket and he’s out the door in a flash. The address Bucky sends him is only a short distance from his house, and thanks to his new bike, he’s able to get there even quicker than he’d told Bucky. Steve sees him standing next to his car, leaning against the door of the passenger seat, with his left foot resting on the wheel, tapping idly on his phone. 

Bucky startles and jumps a little as Steve drives past him, then pulls over on the curb up ahead.

“Stevie?” Bucky asks as he approaches him. “What the hell is this?” 

“What? Oh, my new bike?” Steve shrugs, feigning nonchalance. “It was a present.” From himself, but still.

Bucky whistles. “Someone’s been a very good boy this year,” he says, and bursts into a fit of giggles, bringing a hand up to cover his mouth. “Sorry, that sounded way kinkier out loud.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Get on, already.”

Bucky does as he’s told, swinging a leg over the bike and settling in quickly. He wraps his arms around Steve’s middle more tightly than strictly necessary, plastering himself against Steve’s back. “Let’s go,” he says close to Steve’s ear, his voice a low murmur, his breath hot on Steve’s neck. 

It sends shivers down Steve’s spine, and he takes a shaky breath, trying to clear his head before they take off. But all he can focus on the whole way home is Bucky’s warm body pressed against him - it’s a miracle they make it home in one piece. 

Steve unlocks the door and steps inside, kicking his shoes off towards the general vicinity of the shoe rack near the front door. “Keep it down, okay?” he whispers. 

“Why?” Bucky asks, his tone mirroring Steve’s. “Do you have...like a guest?” 

“Yeah, Natasha is asleep in the guest room.”

“Oh. Oh, Natasha.” Bucky smiles, the relief evident on his face. He closes the gap between them in two long strides, and snakes his arms around Steve’s neck, pulling him close and bringing their mouths together. 

Steve intends to step away and break the kiss, really, he does, but once Bucky’s lips are on his, he forgets how to breathe; his arms find their way around Bucky’s middle as he starts kissing him back. They break apart moments later, when Bucky’s wandering hands slip under Steve’s t-shirt and start lifting it up, and Steve steps back, breaking the embrace. 

“I think a shower might help,” Steve says after he clears his throat, and turns on his heel, heading upstairs. “This way,”

“Are you saying I smell bad?” Bucky asks loudly. 

Steve shoots him a sharp look as he shushes him, and Bucky covers his mouth with his hand even as the laughter threatens to spill from his lips. “Sorry,” he whispers and follows Steve to the bathroom. 

Steve shows him where the spare towels are and turns around, ready to leave the room, when Bucky grabs his hand and pulls him close. “You don’t wanna join me?” he asks as he shuffles closer, placing his hands on Steve’s chest. 

Steve meets Bucky’s eye reluctantly, and as soon as he does, his stomach drops. The blue of his eyes is but a thin line, hidden by his blown-out pupils. “What are you on?”

“I don’t know.”

“Bucky.”

“Really, I don’t. We were playing Russian Roulette. It was Kurt’s 30th, so, you know, he went all out.”

Steve raises an eyebrow at him. “I really hope this is a drinking game you’re referring to.”

Bucky snorts a laugh and starts undressing. “Yeah, pal, I don’t have a death wish. It was like, five shots of vodka and one mystery pill. There’s also a good chance it was like, a sugar pill. Or birth control.” Bucky freezes with his hand on his belt. “I really hope it wasn’t birth control.”

Steve laughs, shaking his head, and turning to leave. 

“I’m gonna go make up the couch. Don’t throw up in my shower.”

“You’re not gonna join me?” Bucky asks, tone hopeful.

“No.”

“Can I use your toothbrush?”

“ _ No. _ ”

Steve hears Bucky laugh over the sound of the water as it hits the linoleum tiles, before he closes the door and heads to his bedroom. He pulls out two spare pillows and a blanket and leaves them on the couch in the living room before he heads back to bed. Steve pulls his comforter over his shoulder, and closes his eyes, willing for sleep that never comes. He can hear Bucky around the house, as he walks from room to room, and it’s unsettling to have him in his home in the middle of the night, especially when he thought he’d never see him again. After some time, he hears Bucky’s footsteps approaching. There’s a moment of silence, then a hesitant knock on his bedroom door. 

Steve switches on the lamp on his nightstand, and turns around to face the door. “Come on in, Buck,” he calls out. 

“Hey,” Bucky whispers as he opens the door slightly and pokes his head through. “Can I come in?”

“Yeah,”

“I can’t sleep,” Bucky says, closing the door behind him. He pulls back the covers and crawls into bed, a sly smile on his lips as he climbs over Steve, straddling him with his legs. 

Steve raises a skeptical eyebrow at him. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I dunno,” Bucky mumbles, and his smile grows wider. “Seducing you?”

“Is that so,” Steve says, trying hard to keep his tone as dry and disinterested as possible. Bucky leans over, his mouth hovering over Steve’s, and it becomes increasingly harder to keep his hands to himself. 

Bucky licks his lips, his gaze flicking between Steve’s eyes to his mouth, his face mere inches away from Steve’s. He leans in just as Steve turns his head away. 

“Buck,” he sighs. 

Bucky sits up. He seems lost for a moment, a slight frown creasing his brows. “Are you - are you saying no?” he asks finally. 

Steve looks up at him, meeting his eye, and swallows hard. “Let’s just go to sleep, yeah?” He nudges him slightly and Bucky climbs off him, slumping onto the mattress next to him. 

“Come on,” Steve pats the pillow next to his invitingly. “Sleep it off,”

Bucky stares at him. “Sleep what off?”

“Whatever you’re on.”

“Oh my God, is that what this is?” Bucky shakes his head, the smile returning to his lips. He lays down, propping an elbow up to support his head while his free hand wanders over Steve’s torso, making its way down. “You think I wouldn’t want you sober?” he asks, voice low.

Steve sighs and closes his eyes. That’s not a conversation he feels like having right now, if at all. He can hardly think straight, because, well - Bucky is doing a very good job of distracting him. He hates how much he enjoys Bucky’s touch, the way his fingers slip under his t-shirt and caress his bare skin. Bucky shuffles closer, sliding his knee between Steve’s legs, pushing their bodies closer together. 

“Steve?”

Steve’s eyes flutter open. “Hmm?”

“I wasn’t - I wasn’t trying to booty call you,” Bucky says, not quite meeting Steve in the eye. 

“I didn’t think you were,” Steve says, a smirk curling his lips. “I do now.”

“No, fuck,” Bucky shakes his head. “I was just - you know, I missed you. And...and I was thinking about you, and you know… I didn’t even think you’d pick up the phone, Christ, I mean...” Bucky trails off with a sigh. He nuzzles his face in the crook of Steve’s neck, pressing a kiss to his throat. “I’m just…”

“Super horny?” Steve teases him. He tries his hardest to keep his tone even, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t turned on. How could he  _ not _ be, when Bucky had practically plastered himself to Steve’s body, and he was touching him, and kissing him? The moan that escapes from his mouth betrays him, and if anything, it encourages Bucky. 

Bucky kisses his neck again, and sinks his teeth into the flesh softly, drawing out another quiet little moan from Steve’s mouth. He lifts his head and meets Steve’s gaze, and whispers, “I want you. I just want you,” before he leans in, pressing his mouth to Steve’s. Steve reciprocates immediately, bringing a hand up to cup Bucky’s cheek while he helps Bucky climb over him once again while they kiss, slow and deliberate, but with a sense of urgency underneath it all, desire driving their movements. 

Steve lets Bucky pull him up, and lifts his arms so Bucky can take his t-shirt off before he falls back on the mattress again, breathless. Bucky leans down to kiss him again, but Steve puts his hand on Bucky’s chest, stopping him. 

“Buck,” he shakes his head slightly. “I can’t - I can’t.”

Bucky pouts. “You sure?” he asks, rolling his hips against Steve’s, grinding down on him. 

Steve swears under his breath. The temptation is hard to resist, but the little voice in his head that tells him he can’t go through with this won’t shut up. 

“C’mere,” Steve whispers, and pulls him down for another, though much more chaste, kiss. Bucky smiles at him when they break away, and Steve can’t help but return the smile. “Buy me dinner first.”

“Okay,” Bucky’s smile grows wider. “I promise.”

Steve breathes a sigh of relief. “Okay. I’ll hold you to that.”

“Can we still cuddle? Is that allowed?” 

“Yeah, we can cuddle,” Steve says with a playful eye roll.

Bucky climbs off of him and snuggles close, resting his head on Steve’s shoulder, and throwing his leg over Steve’s. “I forgot how warm you are,” he murmurs. “Missed that. Missed you.” Bucky pauses for a moment, and when he speaks again, his voice is barely above a whisper. “Did you miss me?”

“Yeah, I did,” Steve admits. “I missed you, you asshole.”

Bucky laughs. “Okay, I deserve that. I’m an asshole. I know that.”

“Goodnight.” Steve whispers, dropping a kiss to Bucky’s temple. 

“‘Night.”

Steve wakes up a little after 10 o’clock to the sound of his phone buzzing on his nightstand. He reaches over to grab it, blinking repeatedly until his eyes adjust to the brightness. It’s a text message from Natasha that simply reads  _ ‘im ordering breakfast you want your usual?’ _

Steve sits up with a groan. Next to him, Bucky is fast asleep, with his arms curled around Steve’s pillow, his long, messy hair half-covering his face. The sight makes Steve smile - he’s equal parts surprised, because he had been expecting Bucky to have sneaked out before he’d woken up, but still he’s glad that doesn’t seem to be the case. 

Steve pushes the comforter off and slowly gets out of bed, careful as to not disturb Bucky, and gets dressed. When he gets to the kitchen, he finds Natasha has helped herself to a cup of coffee from Steve’s fancy new coffee maker - which she convinced him to buy - and there’s a second cup on the edge of the kitchen island, closest to the door. 

Steve sighs, content. “You’re the best, you know that?”

“I do know that,” Natasha puts her phone away and smiles at him. She takes a sip of her coffee before setting her cup down. “I wasn’t sure if your guest was going to join us,” She says, nodding towards Steve’s cup. “I mean, a booty call that you have to sneak in doesn’t seem like the kind to stick around for brunch.”

Steve nearly chokes on his coffee. “He’s still asleep. Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“I’ve always been a light sleeper, don’t worry about it,” Natasha waves a hand dismissively. 

Even if she hadn’t heard them, despite how loud Bucky was being, the mess of pillows and blankets on the pull-out couch in the living room, and Bucky’s shoes in the hallway, would’ve been a dead giveaway. Steve nods, and looks down at his coffee. He can feel the blush creeping up his spine, and he’s not sure why but he feels exactly like he did when he was seventeen and sneaked in his boyfriend and got caught by his ma in the morning. A whirlwind of embarrassment, mixed with a sense of stubbornness, maybe, ready to defend himself  _ because he didn’t even do anything wrong, Nat.  _ (He did, and he knows he did, but he’s going to try to argue he didn’t.)

Several moments of silence pass while Steve contemplates what to say next, and seeing as he’s not going to share any more information voluntarily, Natasha prods on. “So, did you have a fun night?”

“Of course,” Steve looks up at her then, smiling warmly. “I always love our takeout movie nights.”

She rolls her eyes. “Dodging questions. What a surprise.”

“What does that mean?” Steve asks, indignant. 

“It’s a classic Steve Rogers move.”

“Oh, fuck off, Romanoff,” 

Natasha bites back a smile. “Have I upset you? What did I say?”

“Don’t psychoanalyze me, not this early in the day,” Steve grumbles. “Least let me finish my coffee.”

Natasha laughs to herself, quietly. Steve shoots her a dirty look and that just makes her laugh even more, and then her phone buzzes, alerting of the arrival of their food and she composes herself before she goes to collect it at the door. “I got you your usual, by the way.”

“Oh shit, I forgot to actually text you back.” Steve wipes a hand over his face. “Sorry. I’m still asleep.”

“Well, you’re excused,” Natasha says, tone nonchalant. She sits down across from him and unpacks the takeaway bag, setting Steve’s container in front of him. “Because you were probably up all night getting railed and all.”

“ _ Jesus Christ _ ,” Steve breathes out. He tries to keep his laughter from spilling but he fails. Natasha grins at him before shoving a forkful of blueberry pancakes in her mouth, and the blush returns to his cheeks. Steve takes a deep breath before he speaks. “If you must know, there was no railing of any kind happening.” He says, and digs into his breakfast. 

Natasha tilts her head to one side. “Well, that’s just sad.”

“Uh-uh,” Steve rolls his eyes. “Bucky called me to go pick him up. I did, and he slept in my bed. That’s it, that’s the whole thing. Happy?”

Natasha straightens up in her seat, and puts her fork down. “You got up in the middle of the night to go pick up the guy who’s been ghosting you for the past month, and you didn’t even get laid?”

Steve shrugs. He chooses to not reply, instead finishing off the last of his breakfast in one big bite, gulping down his coffee to wash it down. “Thanks for this,” he says around a mouthful as he gets up to throw away the empty carton box and put his mug in the dishwasher. 

Her eyes follow his movements. “Seriously, Steve?”

“I don’t know, Nat. He seemed pretty out of it. What would you have done?”

“I’d have sent him an Uber.”

Steve leans against the counter and folds his arms across his chest. “Good idea, actually. I’ll do that next time.”

She shrugs, and changes the subject, which Steve is grateful for. He’s never been good at having difficult conversations, which is probably one of the reasons his relationship with Bucky is one gigantic question mark at the moment. They went from being colleagues, to something akin to friends with benefits - and then nothing at all, since the night of his housewarming party, when he’d last seen Bucky. At first, Steve had tried to reach out, asking if Bucky wants to meet up, trying to find an excuse to hang out again, but after a few weeks he’d got the hint that Bucky wasn’t interested, and he’d dropped it. Since the last time Steve had texted Bucky, and never got a text back, he hadn’t tried to contact him anymore. If Bucky changed his mind, he had his number, so Steve figured he wasn’t going to be pushy about it. 

It still hurt that Bucky never texted, never called - as if their relationship, whatever it may have been, didn’t matter to him in the slightest, leaving Steve wondering if his feelings were never reciprocated. Maybe for Bucky, it had just been a fling, or a matter of convenience. Steve didn’t know. He still doesn’t know, because they’d never  _ talked  _ about it. 

Until now. 

After Natasha heads home, Steve heads up to his bedroom. He opens the door slowly, poking his head in to see if Bucky’s still asleep. The room is still dark, thanks to the shut-out blinds - an excellent investment, really - but Bucky stirs, glancing over his shoulder to look at Steve. 

“Good morning,” Steve says cheerily, opening the door widely and walking in. “Well, good afternoon, more like.”

Bucky groans. “Shit,” he sits up slowly, bringing his knees up to his chest and rubbing his face with both hands. “What time is it?” he asks in a hoarse voice. 

“Two-thirty,” Steve says. “Here,” He hands Bucky a glass of water.

“Thanks,” Bucky mutters before downing the whole glass. 

“How you feelin’?” Steve asks. He sits on the edge of the bed, folding one leg under the other, facing Bucky.

Bucky won’t quite meet his eye. “Been better.”

Steve laughs softly. “I think we need to talk.” He says, and pauses. “Maybe when you’re not hungover, though.”

“Yeah,” Bucky breathes out a sigh. “I think you’re right.”


	13. Chapter 13

Bucky is sitting at the booth in the north-west corner of Ed’s diner, across the table from Steve, and neither has said a word in the last four and a half minutes. 

The silence that stretches between them creeps up his spine and wraps around him like a thick cloud, not unlike the way the humid air of New York City in the middle of the summer fills his lungs, suffocating him slowly. Bucky can’t sit still; he’s busied himself by slowly peeling off the label of his beer bottle, and steadily avoiding meeting Steve in the eye. 

They haven’t said much to each other, from the moment Steve walked through the door, saw Bucky, and walked over, plopping himself down at the table across from him. Small talk, pleasantries - things you’d talk about with the neighbour next door you’re on a semi-first-name-basis with. The waiter had come by and taken their order, then moved to the next table over, and now they were sitting in silence, each waiting for the other to brave and rip off the band-aid.

Bucky feels his nerves tying knots in his stomach. The fact that he’s managed to keep half a bottle of liquid down is a miracle in itself. He’d rehearsed things in his head; in the shower, stuck in a traffic jam, waiting for a train, in bed at night, when his brain would go into overdrive and start overthinking and keeping him up when he so desperately needed to sleep. Now that he’s here, though - now that Steve is here, sitting across from him, his curious baby-blue eyes fixed on Bucky, gaze unwavering, Bucky seems to be at a loss for words. 

Steve seems to have run out of patience. He sighs, and leans back. “Can we just, you know,” he pauses and shrugs. “Can we get this over with?”

“Huh?” Bucky looks up at him, startled. “Get what over with?”

“This conversation,” Steve makes a vague sweeping gesture. “Look, I just want to know - did I do something wrong?”

Bucky’s eyes widen. He says, “No,” but there’s a lot more he wants to say, and he takes a moment to gather his thoughts. “Why did you think that?”

“What do you mean?” Steve asks, incredulous. “Because you were avoiding me like the plague. I didn’t know what to think, but I wondered - I don’t know. Maybe I’d hurt you.” He shrugs. 

“No,” Bucky shakes his head. “ _ Christ _ . Ah, I fucked up big time.” He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “Look, I’m sorry. I’ve been feeling...incredibly bad about it. That I just went incommunicado on you. I know it was a dick move. So…I’m sorry.”

Steve nods. He glances down at his empty cup of tea for a moment, and looks up when the waiter comes by and asks if he wants a refill. Steve smiles and says, “Yes, please,” and the waiter takes his cup and hurries off. Steve turns his head, meeting Bucky in the eye again. He shrugs. “I mean, whatever, I forgive you.”

Bucky breathes a sigh of relief, his shoulders sagging. “Thanks.” he says, because he really isn’t sure what else to say. He doesn’t  _ deserve  _ Steve’s forgiveness. 

“But you gotta tell me what the hell happened.” 

Bucky lets his head drop with a soft laugh. “Aw, fuck, man,” he says as he straightens up, a wry smile on his face. “‘Suppose I owe you an explanation, huh?”

“That’s not too much to ask for, is it?” Steve asks with a tilt of his head. There’s a hint of uncertainty in his voice, but he’s looking at Bucky with a small smile on his face. 

“I don’t think it is, no,” Bucky says, swallowing thickly. “Thing is, I don’t really have one.”

Steve barks out a laugh. It startles Bucky, who looks up at him, eyes narrowing. “What’re you laughing at?”

“How much I don’t believe that.” 

“Give me a break, Rogers,” Bucky slumps in his seat. “What do you want me to say? I mean, Jesus Christ, Steve. You want the truth? I have no idea why a guy like you would want anything to do with someone like me.”

Steve’s eyebrows rise to his hairline. He opens his mouth to reply, but promptly shuts it when the waiter appears at their table with a new cup of tea, which he sets down in front of Steve, and asks if there’s anything else he can get them. 

Steve orders a chicken sandwich, smiling politely at the young man who scribbles down the order before he takes off. When they’re alone, Steve looks at Bucky again. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Bucky sighs. He lets his head hang back, glancing at the ceiling briefly; the bright, fluorescent lights only serve to worsen the turmoil in the pit of his stomach. He hasn’t felt like himself for the past few days, not since waking up to find himself in Steve’s bed with the worst hangover of his life.

“You know what it means, Steve.” Bucky says, speaking softly. “You’re a man who’s got his shit together. I mean, look at your life, then look at mine. Did you know I got paid with a tupperware of pot brownies the other day?” 

Steve laughs, and glances away briefly, his cheeks flushing with colour. “I feel like there’s a story there.” 

“Yeah, not a great one.” Bucky smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “It did make for a great Friday afternoon though.”

Steve smiles warmly. “I bet it did. Shoulda invited me to join you.” He says, nudging his foot against Bucky’s under the table. 

“Ah, yeah, um - I don't know. Um, I’ve been told I can get kinda...uh, handsy.”

“Well, I didn’t mind,” Steve raises his eyebrows briefly, his eyes glinting with mischief. 

Bucky feels a flash of heat warming his cheeks. He knows he was pretty out of it when he called Steve, but he can’t for the life of him recall what happened after that. He remembers, vaguely, the warmth of Steve’s body and how he had wrapped himself around the man, and it makes him cringe at his own clinginess. 

Bucky clears his throat before he speaks. “I don’t actually remember… did we, um…?” He asks. He doesn’t dare meet Steve’s eye. 

“No,” Steve says firmly. “I mean, you did come on to me. Several times.”

Bucky grumbles and sinks in his seat, covering his face with both hands. He mumbles out an apology, the words muffled against his palms.

“But as a rule of thumb, I don’t sleep with people who are not going to remember it the next day.”

“Um. Thanks. Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Steve says and hides his grin behind his cup. 

Bucky wishes the ground would open up and swallow him whole. He sits up straight but keeps his face hidden behind his hands, leaning with his elbows on the table. It catches him by surprise when he feels Steve’s hands closing over his own, slowly prying them apart, forcing Bucky to look at him. “Now, tell me again why I wouldn’t want to be with you? Because I can’t think of a single reason.”

Bucky melts a little. He sighs. “I don’t know. I just look at you, and...it’s intimidating. You’ve got your house, your career, you know…you’re not a mess like me.”

“You’re not a mess, Buck.”

“I kind of am.”

Steve looks down at their hands, where he’s been absent-mindedly stroking Bucky’s wrists with his thumbs. “I think you’re selling yourself too short. Is this really why you started dodging my calls?”

Bucky shifts in his seat. Steve’s gaze is on him again, the ever-present warmth in his eyes when he looks at Bucky, and it’s unnerving. “Not exactly,” he breathes out. “Not consciously. I guess I wasn’t sure where we stood...”

“Yeah, me neither.” Steve gives him a lopsided smile and pulls away, leaning back in his seat. 

Bucky misses his touch instantly. He closes his eyes for a minute, trying to memorise the feeling, fearing it may just be the last time he’d ever feel Steve’s hands on him. He presses the palms of his hands against the tears that form in his eyes, and on impulse, whispers, “I fucked up.”

“Well,” Steve says, voice soft. “We’re here now, aren’t we?” 

Bucky blinks in response. 

“I’m saying,” Steve elaborates when he gets no verbal response from Bucky. “We can talk about it now. About where we stand...right?”

It hits him, then, that Steve wants him. He still wants him. Bucky’s eyes widen, the air punched out of him. For a moment, he is speechless. He really wants to respond, he wants to say something - something profound, something meaningful, something romantic, he wants to tell Steve how much he wants nothing more than to be with him. But he comes up empty. 

Steve’s hand closing over his wrist snaps Bucky out of his thoughts. “Yeah,” he breathes out finally, and the noise in his head quiets down as his senses zero in on Steve’s touch, tender as ever, around his wrist. “Yeah.” Bucky repeats. 

“Hey, we don’t have to talk about it right now. I mean, you still owe me dinner.”

“I do?” Bucky asks, frowning.

“Yeah,” Steve grins. “This doesn’t count. It has to be a proper dinner. A date. You promised to buy me dinner, you know, when you were trying to get into my pants.”

Bucky closes his eyes as the embarrassment washes over him. “Right.”

Steve laughs and hooks his ankle around Bucky’s, leaning forward and resting his head on his propped up elbow. “You know what, though,” he says, a slow, mischievous smile spreading over his face. “I think technically this... _ could _ count as dinner, right?”

“You just said-” Bucky stops mid-sentence as he catches on; the twinkle in Steve’s bright blue eyes is unmistakable. Bucky’s come to know it well. His heart does a backflip in his chest, the excitement and anticipation rushing through him. “Guess I could buy you breakfast instead,” he says, barely able to contain his grin. “Tomorrow morning?”

“Yeah,” Steve’s expression mirrors his own. “Yeah, that sounds good,”

Now they’re just two idiots, sitting opposite each other in an old, yet bright and colourful diner, grinning at each other like the idiots that they are. 

“Let me go settle the bill,” Bucky says a moment later, when he’s just about had his fill of looking into Steve’s eyes, while the butterflies fluttering in his stomach makes him feel giddy. 

They walk together the short distance to Steve’s house, side by side, so close that their hands bump into each other’s from time to time yet neither wants to make the first move, and grab the other’s hand in theirs, so unfortunately for Bucky, that’s all the contact he gets until they make it to the house. He walks up the short steps that lead to Steve’s front door, and when he turns around, mid-sentence, he finds himself being pushed against the door, Steve’s mouth crashing onto his soon after. Bucky’s breath catches in his throat, and he can’t help but kiss him back, getting his hands around Steve’s neck, his fingers scratching against the short-trimmed blonde hair at the back of Steve’s head. Steve’s mouth is hot on his, kissing him hungrily, his hands firms on Bucky’s hips. 

“ _ Fuck _ ,” Bucky whispers when they break apart, breathless. “Steve.”

Steve can’t keep his hands to himself. He hums in response, but it sounds a lot more like a moan, with his mouth wet against Bucky’s throat. 

“Open the door.  _ Please _ .”

Steve fumbles with the key for a moment, but seconds later they’re stumbling through the door and then they’re on each other again, hands reaching for each other as they come together again. They kiss again and again and again, wet and hot and messy, not wanting to separate at all, not even when they try, with great difficulty, to make it up the stairs to Steve’s bedroom on the second floor. Bucky trips over his own jacket - after it’s pushed off his shoulders and onto the floor behind him - but Steve’s arms catch him, and before he knows it Steve’s lifting him up, making Bucky gasp in surprise. It’s a miscalculated move because only moments later Steve’s pushing him against the wall on the side of the staircase, right before Bucky slips out of his grasp, landing gently on the steps. He laughs, and Steve grins against his mouth before he kisses him, and they stumble their way up the rest of the steps and into the bedroom. 

“Take off your clothes.” Steve’s voice is a low rumble close to Bucky’s ear, and it sends shivers down his spine. 

Bucky doesn’t need to be told twice. He pulls his t-shirt over his head and discards it onto the floor, then helps Steve unbutton his flannel shirt, which gets flung over on the dresser, and then they’re reaching for each other again. Steve kisses him again while his hands are busy trying to get Bucky’s pants off of him as soon as possible. His mouth finds Bucky’s neck again, trailing kisses over his collarbone and down his chest, and Bucky wraps his arms around his shoulders and holds him close, breathing him in. 

“God, I fucking missed you.”

Steve lifts his head and looks him straight in the eye, puts his hand on the back of Bucky’s neck and pulls him close. “Me too, Buck,” he murmurs, and kisses him again. 

Bucky absolutely does not whimper, although the noise he makes sounds a lot like a whimper, desperate and needy. He’s so aroused, his head’s spinning with it, and he can’t take it anymore. His hands on Steve’s hips, Bucky nudges him backwards until the back of his knees hit the edge of his bed and he falls onto it, and Bucky grins and climbs over him. 

It’s almost a relief, when he finally pushes Steve’s underwear down to his knees and gets his mouth around the head of his dick, pink and glistening and hard as a rock, and the way Steve moans and throws his head back, crying out his name, makes Bucky just the hungrier for it. He’s only just got started when Steve pulls him up. “C’mere,” he whispers, and Bucky can’t help but obey. 

Steve shimmies out of his jeans, pushing them off with one hand while with the other he tries to get Bucky’s pants off, and when it proves too hard he sighs and covers his face with his hands to hide his embarrassment. Bucky laughs and gets rid of their pants before he climbs over him again. Steve looks up at him and smiles and pulls him down for another kiss, letting his hands wander all over Bucky’s naked body. His touch drives Bucky crazy with want; he wants more, more, more. He rolls his hips against Steve’s, his body moving on its own accord, chasing the friction. Steve rolls him off and pushes a knee between Bucky’s thighs, and presses himself closer to Bucky, taking them both in his hand.

Bucky swears under his breath. He reaches out and his hand finds Steve’s neck and pulls him close, bringing their mouths together again, moaning into the kiss. Steve’s hand is restless, now, stroking them quickly, while he rocks against Bucky, frantic, half-aborted jerks of his hips that only add to the pleasure that builds between them. 

“Oh my-” Bucky bites down on his lip, in a failed attempt to stop the sound that escapes his mouth anyway, loud and guttural, and squeezes his eyes shut, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of Steve’s sides. He comes with a shudder, spilling all over himself. Steve strokes him through it and lets go only to bring his hand up to Bucky’s cheek, angling his head so he can kiss him, while his hips continue to move against Bucky’s. Bucky wastes no time replacing Steve’s hand with his own, and continues jerking him off to the point of orgasm.

“Fuck,” Steve breathes out as he collapses on the mattress, panting heavily.

“Hey,” Bucky says, and Steve turns to look at him. “I think we ruined your bedding a little bit.”

Steve shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it,” he mutters and moves towards Bucky, catching his lips in a soft kiss. “It was worth it.”

“You wanna ruin it some more?” Bucky grins. 

Steve laughs. “Give me a minute, will you?” he says as he leans over to his nightstand, reaching for the tissues to clean up the mess between them, then snuggles closer to Bucky, flinging an arm over his waist to pull him close. “Might be more than a minute,” he mumbles close to his ear, and Bucky laughs.

“I’m actually starving. Barely ate anything all day,” Bucky says, and in a lower voice, adds, “Was kinda nervous about... you know…” he trails off with a sigh. 

Steve lifts his head to look at him. “Me too.”

Bucky nods slowly. There’s more he wants to say, but he’s not sure if now’s the right time, or if there ever is a right time for it, so he stays silent, absent-mindedly trailing circles on Steve’s chest with his index finger. 

“Are we still on for breakfast tomorrow morning?”

Bucky’s head snaps up, meeting Steve’s gaze. “Yeah, guess so.”

“Okay,” Steve says, a slow smile spreading over his face. “Then it’s a date.”

_ Oh. _

Bucky’s breath catches in his throat as the realisation dawns on him, then, that he’s fallen for this big, beautiful, dumb blonde laying naked next to him. He can’t help the smile that stretches his mouth, and he reaches for Steve’s face, whispering, “Yeah, it’s a date,” before he kisses him with all he’s got. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LAST CHAPTER! (next one is an epilogue)  
> I WANNA HEAR YOUR THOUGHTS!!!!


	14. Chapter 14

**_Epilogue  
_ **

Bucky sighs as he settles into the plush armchair, pulling his knees to his chest, and turning his gaze to the forest that surrounds the lodge. The snow hasn’t stopped falling since they arrived last night, getting in just before it kicked up into a snowstorm. It’s laid thickly on the ground, making it impossible for cars to travel to and from the remote hotel, but they have no plans to leave anytime soon. 

Steve didn’t plan for this to be a business trip, he’d said; he just wanted to go on a weekend trip to get away from the city, and he wanted to go with Bucky. He hadn’t even asked for an interview, but Bucky had volunteered. If there was anyone he could trust to tell his story, it was Steve. 

The door opens and in comes Steve, dressed in a white bathrobe, similar to Bucky’s. 

“Reception says the phone lines are down,” he says, coming up to Bucky and bending down to press a quick kiss to his cheek. “I ordered at the desk, but there was a queue. Might be a while till we get our food. Sorry.”

Bucky shrugs. “I don’t care.” He murmurs. “It’s gorgeous out there.”

“It is,” Steve smiles. “Aren’t you glad I made you come?”

Bucky scoffs. “Yeah, okay, you had a good idea for once. Don’t milk it.” 

Steve laughs and wraps his arms around Bucky’s neck, pressing his cheek against Bucky’s. “You want a cup of tea while we wait?” 

Bucky nods, and Steve goes about making them the drinks in the little kitchenette. Then he settles down on the armchair across from Bucky, setting the mugs down on the table between the chairs. He brings his chair closer and stretches his legs out, resting them on Bucky’s lap, and settles down with a content sigh. 

“I don’t really know where to start,” Bucky says some time later, eyes glued to the remnants of his green tea at the bottom of his mug. 

Steve tilts his head. “The beginning would be a good place to start.” 

Bucky tickles his foot in response, and it makes Steve jerk his foot away, hitting his knee against the top of the table in the process. Bucky giggles. “Serves you right.” 

Steve repeats his words back to him mockingly. “Alright, then. Start at the end, see if I care.” 

Bucky chuckles and sets his cup down. Diverting his gaze out the window, he takes a deep breath, before he starts speaking. 

“My name is James Barnes. I used to be a spy.”


End file.
